The night was warm, but the sea-breeze sang a lullaby in the trees that peeped in at her window, and now and then a strong gust blew the flame almost to the top of the lamp-chimney. Stanley slept soundly in his trundle-bed, occasionally startling her by half-uttered exclamations, as in his dreams he chased rabbits or found partridge-eggs. Oblivious of passing hours, and profoundly immersed in speculations concerning her future, the girl sewed on, working scallop after scallop, and flower after flower, in the gossamer cambric between her slender fingers. Stars that looked upon her early in the night had gone down into blue abysms below the horizon, and the midnight song of a mocking-bird, swinging in a lemon-tree beneath her window, had long since hushed itself with the chirp of crickets and gossip of the katydids. A tap on the facing of her open door finally aroused her, and she hastily attempted to hide her work, as Dr. Grey asked,-- "What keeps you up so late? Are you dressing a doll for Jessie?" "What brings you home so early? Is your patient better?" "Yes; in one sense he is certainly better; for, free from all pain, he rests with his God." "What time is it?" "Half-past three. Little Charles died about an hour ago, and, as I shall be very busy to-morrow, I came upstairs to ask if you will oblige me by going over to Mrs. Peterson's and remaining with her until the neighbors assemble in the morning. It is an unpleasant duty, and unless you are perfectly willing I will not request you to perform it." "Certainly, sir; I will go at once. Why should I hesitate?" "Come down as soon as you are ready, and I will make Harrison drive you over in my buggy. As it is only a mile I walked home." When she stood before him, waiting for the servant to adjust some portion of the harness, Dr. Grey wrapped her shawl more closely around her, and said,-- "What new freak keeps you awake till four o'clock?" "It is no freak, but the beginning of a settled purpose that reaches in numberless ramifications through all my coming years. It does not concern you, so ask me no more. Good-night. I suppose I ought to tender you my thanks for deeming me worthy of this melancholy mission; and if so, pray be pleased to accept them." CHAPTER V. "Jane, have you heard that we shall soon have some new neighbors at 'Solitude'?" "No; who is brave enough to settle there?" "Mrs. Gerome, a widow, has purchased and refitted the house, preparatory to making it her home." "Do you suppose she knows the history of its former owners?" "Probably not, as she has never seen the place. The purchase was made some months since by her agent, who stated that she was in Europe." "Ulpian, I am sorry that the house will again be occupied, for some mournful fatality seems to have attended all who ever resided there; and I have been told that the last proprietor changed the name from 'Solitude' to 'Bochim.'"