"What is it, Crystal, dear?" asked Fern, anxiously, as the two young men left the room; but Crystal only lifted her eyebrows and glanced at Fluff, whose curly head was distinctly visible; so Fern said cheerfully, "Very well, we have our tea, and then it will be Fluff's bed-time;" and then without another word busied herself with her simple preparations. But it was not a festive meal. In spite of all her cheery efforts Crystal sat quite silent, with a cloud on her handsome face, and Fluff had turned sulky at the mention of her bed-time. So Fern fell to thinking of Erle's look as he bade her good-night--how kind he had been to her that evening. Yes, she was glad they were friends, and that he cared to hear about their troubles. He was so unselfish, so different to other young men--Fern did not know a single young man except Erle, so her knowledge was not very reliable; and then, with an odd transition of thought, she wondered who Miss Selby could be, and why Percy called her la Belle Evelyn, and looked at Erle so mischievously. But presently, when Fluff had gone off grumbling with her kitten, and all the pretty tea-things had been washed and put away in the big corner cupboard, and the kettle was silent, and only a cricket chirped on the hearth, Fern sat down beside Crystal, and put her arm affectionately round her. "Now, you can tell me what has been troubling you, darling," she said, in a coaxing voice. It seemed a pity that there was no one to see the two faces so close together; an artist would have sketched them as Night and Morning. Fern's soft English fairness made a splendid foil to Crystal's olive complexion and dark southern coloring. The girl was superbly handsome, in spite of the bitter lines round the mouth and the hard, defiant curve of the lips. As Fern spoke her dark eyes flashed angrily. "He has been speaking to me again," she said, in an agitated voice. "He has dared to follow me and persecute me; and he calls it love--love!" with immeasurable contempt in her tone; "and when I tell him that it is ungenerous and wrong, he complains that I have robbed him of all peace. Fern, I know he is your brother, and that I ought not to speak against him; but how am I to help hating him?" "Oh, no!" with a shudder, for Fern's gentle nature was not capable of Crystal's passion; "you must not hate poor Percy--he can not help loving you." "A poor sort of love," returned Crystal, scornfully; "a love that partakes too much of the owner's selfishness to be to my taste. Fern, how can he be your mother's son? he has not a grain of her noble, frank nature, and from all accounts he does not take after your father."