Martha was near the window, looking forth into the bright moonlight. It must have been getting quite late, when she discovered some one approaching their house. She thought at first that it might be her cousin George, but, as the figure drew nearer, her heart gave a great bound, and she saw that it was he upon whom her thoughts had been fixed. Yes, it was Mark Blakely. When he mentioned to Mrs. Hunt that he had a visit to pay to a sick friend, he had reference to Charles Taylor. Mark Blakely, since his return, had been struck with the change in Charles Taylor; it was more perceptible to him than to those who saw Charles habitually, and, when the apology came for Mr. Taylor’s absence, Mark determined to call upon him at once, though, in talking with Mrs. Hunt, he nearly let the time for it slip by. Martha arose when he entered; in broad day he might have seen, beyond a doubt, her changing face, telling of emotion. Was he mistaken in fancying that she was agitated? His pulses quickened at the thought, for Martha was as dear to him as she had ever been. “Will you pardon my intrusion at this hour?” he asked, taking her hand and bending towards her with his sweet smile. “It is later than I thought it was--indeed, the hall clock was striking ten! I was surprised to hear of your brother’s illness, and wished to hear how he was before I left for home.” “He has kept his room this evening,” replied Martha. “My sister is sitting with him; I do not think it is anything serious, but he has not appeared very well of late.” “Indeed, I trust it is nothing serious,” warmly responded Mark Blakely. Martha fell into silence; she supposed that the servant had told Mary that he was there and that she would be in. Mark went to the window. “The same charming scene,” he exclaimed; “I think the moonlight view from this window is beautiful, the dark trees around, and these white stone mansions, rising there, remain on my memory like the scene of an old painting.” He folded his arms and stood there gazing still. Martha stole a look up at him at his pale, attractive face, with its expression of care. She had wondered once why that look of care was conspicuous there; but not after she became acquainted with his domestic history.