"For her father has disinherited her; her step-mother cast her off. We are her nearest and dearest, and she will stay with us and share our lot," he said within himself. Kathleen, while confiding very freely in them, had held back with a young girl's shyness the story of her love affair and her engagement of marriage. She did not suppose they would care for _that_, and she was so anxious to know what had befallen her uncle that she dwelt constantly on that subject. "Perhaps they murdered him, too," she sobbed. "Oh, cousin! will you not telegraph at once to my friends in Boston, and let them know where I am? Perhaps in that way I may get news of him sooner. And they will be so uneasy over my fate." "They?" the young man repeated, with his curious eyes upon her face. "Mrs. Stone, my friend, and--Mr. Darrell--the man I am to marry," explained Kathleen, with a blush. Her eyes had dropped, so she did not see the ashen pallor that suddenly overspread Chester Franklyn's face. "You will telegraph at once, will you not, cousin?" she repeated, and hastily scribbled down the addresses upon a card. "I will go at once," he answered, taking the slip of paper and leaving the room. But a terrible temptation had assailed him. "Why not wait a little before I send the telegrams!" he thought. "I can not give her up just yet to the proud, rich man she is going to marry. If she stays with us a little longer, I may, perhaps, win beautiful Kathleen from him. It ought to be so. Grandma and I ought to have Zaidee's child for our own because we have been cheated of her sweetness all our lives. I--will--not--send the telegrams just yet. She will never know." He had often read the saying that "all is fair in love and war," and it seemed to him that there could be nothing unfair in this. But yet his heart smote him when he went back and met the eager light in the dark eyes he loved so well. "They will be so much relieved when they know that I am safe and well," she exclaimed. "And as soon as they can they will come for me." "You are in a great hurry to leave us!" Chester cried, reproachfully. "No, indeed, for I love you both dearly," the girl replied, not dreaming how his heart leaped at the words. "But I am so anxious over the fate of my uncle. Only think, cousin, I do not know if he is dead or alive. Perhaps they drowned him, too;" and her eyes filled with tears. "Try and bear the suspense as well as you can. I will try to amuse you," and he kept his word as far as lay in his power. He read to her, sung to her, played games, talked, and Kathleen would have really enjoyed his company only for the cruel suspense of her waiting. "It is strange they do not come. It almost seems as if they did not care for me," she said, wistfully, on the third day. "They will come to-morrow. Do not think about them now. I want to sing you this sweet little song," he said, going over to the piano and seating himself.