“Dear Mrs. Murray, he was such a splendid swimmer, it is not probable he could have perished in so calm a sea,” she cried. “Why, then, does he not return to me?” cried the anguished mother; and she added: “It is three days ago now, and if he had been saved he would surely have come back ere now. No, no, he must have been killed by the stroke that cut the little boat in twain.” It seemed so plausible that this was true that Alexie could not think of any more words of comfort. She had to leave the bereaved woman to her terrible despair. But strangely enough, Italy Vale would not believe that Francis Murray was dead. “Something tells me that he escaped--that he is alive somewhere in the world to-day, and that he will return,” she cried, her eyes beaming, a faint color staining the ivory pallor of her delicate cheek. It was the fifth day after the moonlight party, and Italy was sitting up for the first time in an easy chair, wrapped in a loose, furred dressing-gown and warm slippers, for the day was chilly. A storm had raged the night before, and the sea was high and rough, and a chilly wind was whistling along the New England coast, while heaps of drift lay along the sands that were dotted with screaming sea-gulls and sand-pipers. Sweet Alexie Audenreid had been talking to the lonely girl with all the tenderness of a sister, telling her the truth that could be withheld no longer, but softening its harshness all that she could by her own expressions of affection. But when she had ended she looked away from the keen pain in the dark eyes as Italy realized that she was an object of dislike to Mrs. Murray, an unwelcome guest whose departure was eagerly wished for--that she was homeless. She could not speak for some moments for the keen hurting in her throat, and the wonder in her mind. Mrs. Murray had been kind to her when she first came to Winthrop. What had changed her so as the weeks went past? What had made her so bitterly unkind and cruel? As she thought it over, a dimpled white hand clasped hers tenderly, and sweet Alexie whispered: “Do not mind this hard-hearted old woman, dear. I love you and so does Ralph, and when we are married we want you to be our guest for as long as you will stay. And in the meantime we have a plan to propose to you.” The pathetic dark eyes turned on her in grateful wonder. Alexie continued tenderly: “You will wish to leave here as soon as you can. Do you know where you will go?” “I--I--have not decided yet,” Italy gasped.