undertaking of mercy.

"So I am to stay," cried she, after the discussion had ended to her satisfaction.

"You generally do manage to have your way," smilingly replied Mary.

"There; that is what I have been contending for the past hour," put in Mr. Tracy.

"Oh, indeed. I thought the argument began by discussing your silence," returned Adelina.

"Do any of you know that it is time for tea?" As this seemed remote from the subject in hand, his young friend exclaimed:

"That is right, change the subject. Here is one of the many you addressed who knows how late it is." She was half-way up the stairs before the others appeared in the hall. Leaning over the banister, she called back, laughingly:

"Talking does make one hungry, Harold; no wonder you mentioned tea. How you have talked."

CHAPTER III.

THE ADVENT OF RALPH AND A REJECTED PROPOSAL.

There appeared to be a tacit understanding between the Tracys and Adelina that there should be no further mention of the advent of Ralph Bamford. Adelina knew that he was coming soon; that was all. From her nonchalant manner none could descry her real interest in the affair. Harold and Mary were not deceived, however, by any outward calmness. Too well did they know the young girl not to be cognizant of her deep capacity for feeling, even though there was no reason for emotion other than that of sympathy, that sympathy which would have been rendered to any to whom it was requisite or welcome.

A few days following the conversation last related, Adelina was walking on the lawn, when through the shrubbery she espied a carriage which had stopped just outside the drive. From the carriage a tall man first alighted, and paused to wait for a second person to issue from the interior. The former was soon joined by one who was clearly a much younger man, though even from Adelina's point of view, it could be seen that he was not as agile as his senior. "Ralph," the young girl gasped, then added, "yes, it is he." Suddenly she felt the most unreasoning dread of being discovered, not only by the newcomers, but by anyone, for that matter. It was natural that she should wish her presence to escape Ralph's observation until a more opportune time, fearing the result of such a recognition would be of the greatest detriment to him physically, mentally, she did not even allow herself to think. It was strange how immediate was Adelina's recognition of the young man—not, as was afterwards learned, that he had suffered in looks—but a failure to recognize him at that distance would have been most natural, despite the knowledge of his near arrival. Now that he had come, her first and only impulse was to put as much space as possible between him and herself. She ran until she reached a rustic seat, where she sank breathless, laughing at her absurd timidity—that trait not being a dominant characteristic. Ere long she saw a young man emerging from one of the summer houses. He seemed to be engaged in a fruitless search. When he in turn discovered Adelina, a glad look of triumph followed.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," he said, quickly finding a place beside her.

"Where did you expect to find me? Under the seats of the summer house, most likely," Adelina retorted.

"I think I've looked everywhere, as I said."

This remark was made with the most open assumption of patience; indeed, so transparent was the effort that Adelina greeted the reply with a merry laugh, in which Mr. Burnett joined, perforce.

"Adelina," he said, "I have wanted an opportunity of seeing you alone."

"There; it's coming," said the girl to herself, resignedly.

"Will you not reconsider your answer of last Friday?" Mr. Burnett continued.

"Don't ask me to reconsider, or even remember all of my thoughtless speeches," remarked Adelina faintly, knowing the rendition of the programme to follow as though the parts had been assigned to each one.

"You might at least listen," pleaded the young man.

"Listen," she said vehemently, "why, I could not very well help it, as I have not yet lost the sense of hearing."

"Ah, that is sufficient answer; if you loved you could not be frivolous."

"I do love," she said with such simplicity, that it is small wonder if Mr. Burnett felt encouraged and eagerly asked:

"Is that true, Adelina?"

Seeing her mistake, Adelina hastened to add:

"Why, yes; I love Harold and Mary, and——"

"Pshaw! I thought you meant some one."

"Meaning yourself? No doubt the two mentioned would be delighted at being designated nonentities." Then, seeing that the young man was really wounded, she said impatiently:

"Why can't you love some one else?"

The fact that she was inflicting pain unwillingly and helplessly made her half angry with him.

"There are plenty of nice girls—Lucy, Alice——"

"That will do," Mr. Burnett interrupted with dignity. "Love is not made to order."

"Not even when I order it?" Adelina said, with a bewitching air. Then, suddenly discovering her advantage, added, "If you really care for me you would do as I wish."

But for the timely arrival of a servant on the scene, bearing a message for Miss Fiske, there is no determining when the above conversation would have ended. One of the disputants was longing to put an end to it as speedily as possible, or at least, as quickly as was consistent with even a show of politeness; the other was putting forth every effort to prolong it without impunity. To risk all would be to lose all. He was not certain that there was anything to lose, that anything had ever been gained. For all the benefit accruing to either from the conversation it might as well have never taken place. As they leisurely strolled towards the house, both remained silent, neither desiring to break the silence, whether from feelings of constraint or from varied emotions, it would be difficult to learn. While Adelina's thoughts were, perhaps, less sad than those of her admirer, they were at least, far from enviable, commingled as they were with this recent event, and the one of former years. Doubtless she was thinking partly of what Mr. Burnett was thinking of her, and what she would say to that other whose arrival she had just witnessed. Tom Burnett had evidently concluded that "the better part of valor is discretion," for there was no pursuance of the talk, even when he found they were nearing the doorway. Only a quiet "good-by" from him. That was all he said to the girl who knew she had his happiness in her keeping, but whom he never once blamed, knowing with her conscience was all, and that she would follow its dictates, meriting thus always the love he had chosen to bestow upon her. Chosen? No; surely, that word is misapplied, for who ever chooses to love? Does love not rather come unawares to the non-suspecting? and does not the word rightly interpreted tell of an utter forgetfulness of self, implying only disinterested feelings; precluding entirely the idea of selection, which alone would mean something premeditated?

CHAPTER IV.

THE MEETING.

Adelina found Mary awaiting her, and, though, secretly delighting in the interruption, learned that there was really no reason for her being summoned, except Mary's wish to discuss recent events, and the desire to hasten a meeting between the two young people. The young girl read the question Mary longed to ask, and answered