"She's only amusing herself, the little wild bird. It's pleasant to be pretty and popular. I don't suppose she has an idea of marrying any of those dozen lovers," laughed Bruce carelessly. "Yes, there's one--she says she likes him best of all; but I don't know if she means it, she is so teasing. His name is Earle Winans." "Earle Winans!" and the languid, elegant gentleman started up, alert and eager. "Earle Winans!" he repeated. "Yes, that is his name. His father is a great statesman, and his mother owns Rosemont. He is very rich, this young man, and very much in love with our Ladybird." "Ah!" and he rose and crossed over to the window with his face averted. She thought him careless of the subject, but he was thinking excitedly: "So our life-paths cross again after long years in this strange fashion! Her son in love with my daughter!" He was stirred in a most subtle fashion. Long years ago, when Mrs. Winans was a fair young girl, Bruce Conway had loved her with all the passion of his young manhood. His young wife who had died had been Mrs. Winans' dearest friend. How like a sequel of fate it seemed that their two children should love and wed! The idea pleased Bruce Conway. It was a recompense for all the sufferings of the past; it was romantic to the last degree. He did not rest well that night. The revival of the past made him restless and nervous. His sleep was haunted by restless dreams, and at daydawn he was awake after a most unrefreshing night. Going out for a walk he soon stood by the side of the flowing river, his eyes fixed on the eastern sky now glowing with the rose and gold of dawn. Suddenly a shaft of fiery light pierced the horizon and the glorious orb of day appeared. At that moment two pistol shots, fired simultaneously at some distance away, rang in his ears. He turned about quickly. At a little distance there was a thick grove of pines. He ran forebodingly to the spot. Voices came to his ears. One said pityingly: "It is a fatal wound. Tennant, you had better fly." Then the scene of a duel burst on Conway's sight. Surgeons and seconds were grouped about in a green leafy glade. Upon the grass lay Earle Winans, his eyes closed, his face pale, blood spurting from his breast. He had fired into the air, but his adversary had not been so generous. Within fifteen minutes a telegram went to Washington saying that Earle was very ill and wanted his father. CHAPTER XX. IN ANGER. "No, let me alone--'tis better so; My way and yours are widely far apart. Why should you stop to grieve about my woe, And why should I not step across your heart? A man's heart is a poor thing at the best, And yours is no whit better than the rest. Good-by, I say! This is the day's dim close; Our love is no more worth than last year's rose."