True enough, Mrs. Dennison and Lawrence had passed through one of the drawing-room windows, and were slowly coming down the terrace platform, which, as I have said, ran around one end and the back of the house. It afforded a fine promenade, and they were enjoying the moonlight that fell upon it. My attention was occupied by them a moment, during which Lottie disappeared. The railing of this platform was lined with a rich shrubbery of hot-house plants, lemon-trees, tall roses, and such creeping vines as bear most choice blossoms. These cast heavy shadows, and I fancy that the girl disappeared among them,--listening, perhaps, being considered as one of the accomplishments which she devoted to the benefit of her mistress. When I went back to the drawing-room, Jessie was at the piano, and Bosworth sat near, watching her sadly as she played. She did not attempt to sing, and he offered no request of the kind. Altogether, it was a gloomy evening. Really, I think this idea of turning love into friendship is an absurd way of settling things. Throwing ashes on hot embers only keeps the fire in more certain glow. Jessie was young, and had no idea of prudence in such matters. I did not quite understand the undercurrent of her nature, but, in my heart, thought it best that Bosworth should leave the neighborhood. The next morning I saw Lottie coming out of Mrs. Dennison's room, looking demure as a house-cat. "I've taught 'em how to do another braid," she said, innocently. "If they tangle it, you know, I ain't to blame." CHAPTER XXII. SOWING SEED FOR ANOTHER DAY. After our conversation on the ridge, Mrs. Dennison made the best of her advantages, and, having ingratiated herself into the room of our invalid, managed to pass a good deal of her time there. I think Mrs. Lee, without knowing it herself, exercised a little selfishness in this; for it happened--so naturally that I never should have observed it but for Lottie--that Mr. Lee visited his wife more frequently when his guest was there than at any other time. Indeed, it was not many days before the invalid ceased almost entirely to see him alone. After my attention was drawn to this by one of Lottie's curt sayings, I noticed another thing that troubled me more than Mrs. Dennison's visits. Cora, the mulatto girl, was constantly following her mistress to the room, asking for orders, or reminding Mrs. Dennison of something that she had been desired to remember. She made one or two efforts to fix herself in Lottie's apartment, but that singular female rebuffed the first attempt, by standing square in the door, and asking point-blank if there were anything in that room which Cora wanted. The girl answered, "No," and went away rather crestfallen.