“Yes; Sir William Heath, her brother, presented both carriage and horses to her for her individual use one Christmas,” Rupert explained. “And what is that device upon the panel of the carriage door?” “It is the Linton coat of arms.” “The Linton coat of arms! You seem to know the family well, Mr. Hamilton.” “And why should I not?” Rupert returned, smiling. “I have made my home with them during the last ten or twelve years. William Heath is my guardian.” “What?” cried his listener, sharply. “Have I not told you before?” Rupert asked, looking up in surprise at her tone. “You must pardon me, Mrs. Alexander, for being so negligent; but surely, I thought I had informed you of the fact.” Mrs. Alexander clutched at the carriage door for support, and for a moment thought she must fall to the ground; two such startling discoveries as she had just made were sufficient to make her heart stand still and her blood run cold, and she scarcely had strength to move. Rupert Hamilton Sir William Heath’s ward? It was a strange fate that had decreed that her daughter and his should become the _fiancée_ of the young man he had reared. She was aghast; her brain reeled and she stumbled into the carriage and sank weakly upon the seat, anxious to be gone, to be alone, and think it all out by herself. Her face was deathly in its paleness, and Rupert, though he wondered at her strange behavior, so at variance with her usual courtesy, feared that she was displeased with him for his negligence. “Am I forgiven?” he asked, smilingly, as he leaned in to tuck the robes about them. His question brought the stricken woman somewhat to herself, and she replied: “There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Hamilton. Of course, it was an oversight, your not mentioning that Sir William Heath was your guardian. Did Virgie know?” “Yes, mamma. Rupert introduced me to him to-night as his best friend; but he had told me before, and I thought you knew,” said the young girl, marveling at her mother’s strange emotion. “_Introduced him to you to-night! Was he here?_” cried the woman, with a gasp and a sense of suffocation. “Yes. But, mamma, how strangely you act! Are you ill?” Virgie inquired, noticing, with increasing alarm, her mother’s pale face and uncontrollable agitation. “No—yes. Let me get home as soon as we can—I believe I am not well,” and she sank weakly back among the cushions, almost panting for breath. “Shall I come, too? Will you need me?” Rupert asked, anxiously. “No, thank you,” Mrs. Alexander answered, with a great effort. “It is not far—we shall soon be there—good-night!” The young man would gladly have gone, but her tone was decisive, and he turned back into the mansion, as the carriage drove away, greatly puzzled by her strange manner, and at the way she had spoken of his guardian.