"We were not eavesdropping," explained Leopold, "but just as we were going to enter the room we heard your voice and knew that you were either reading or speaking a piece, so we waited until you had finished."

"I was only reading the words of a new song that I brought down to Miss Pettengill," said Quincy; "she liked the melody and I thought she would appreciate it still more if she knew the words."

"Exactly," said Leopold; "that's the reason I don't like opera, I mean the singing part. All that I can ever make out sounds like oh! ah! ow! and when I try to read the book in English and listen to the singers at the same time I am lost in a hopeless maze."

The young gentlemen were soon on their way to their hotel, and the next afternoon found them again in Boston.

The month of June was a busy, but very enjoyable one, for both Alice and Rosa. They were up early in the morning and were at work before breakfast. They ate heartily and slept soundly. Every pleasant afternoon, when tea was over, they went riding. Tommy Gibson held the reins, and although Dolly was not yet in her teens, she knew every nook and corner, and object of interest on the island, and she took a child's delight in pointing them out, and telling the stories that she had heard about them. The books that Quincy brought on his last visit were utilized, and Miss Very made up another list to be sent to him before his next visit.

When Dolly Gibson showed her mother the money that Miss Very had given her, at Alice's direction, she was told to take it right back at once, but Dolly protested that she had earned it, and when her mother asked her to tell how, the child, whose memory was phenomenal, sat down and made her mother's hair stand almost on end and her blood almost run cold with her recitals of the Eight of Spades, The Exit of Mrs. Delmonnay, and He Thought He Was Dead.

"They are immense," cried Dolly, "they beat all the fairy stories I ever read!"

In due time another letter was sent to Mr. Sawyer, informing him that more books were needed, and that more chapters were ready, and on the morning of the last Sunday in June the young ladies were awaiting the arrival of Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Ernst.

The morning had opened with a heavy shower and the sky was still overcast with angry-looking, threatening rain clouds. Within the little parlor all was bright and cheerful.

Familiar voices were heard greeting Mrs. Gibson and the children, and men's footsteps soon sounded upon the stairs. Leopold entered first, and, advancing to Rosa, handed her a large bouquet of beautiful red roses.

"Sweets to the sweet, roses to Miss Rosa," said he, as he bowed and presented them.

"They are beautiful," she exclaimed.

"All roses are considered so," he remarked with a smile.

While this little byplay was going on, Quincy had approached Alice, who, as usual, was sitting by the window, and placed in her hand a small bunch of flowers. As he did so he said in a low voice, "They are forget-me-nots. There is a German song about them, of which I remember a little," and he hummed a few measures.

"Oh! thank you," cried Alice, as she held the flowers before her eyes in a vain effort to see them. "The music is pretty. Can't you remember any of the words?"

"Only a few," replied Quincy. Then he repeated in a low, but clear voice:

"Say, Quincy, can't you come over here and recite a little poem about roses to Miss Very, just to help me out?" cried Leopold. "All I can think of is:

"Stop where you are," said Rosa laughingly, "for that will do."

Alice dropped the forget-me-nots, in her lap. The illusion was dispelled.

The newly-completed chapters were next read, and quite a spirited discussion took place in regard to the political features introduced in one of them. Dinner intervened and then the discussion was resumed.

Alice maintained that to write about Aaron Burr and omit politics would be the play of "Hamlet," with Hamlet left out; and her auditors were charmed and yet somewhat startled at the impassioned and eloquent manner in which she defended Burr's political principles.

When she finished Leopold said, "Miss Pettengill, if you will put in your book the energetic defence that you have just made, I will withdraw my objections."

"You will find that and more in the next chapter," Alice replied.

And the reading was resumed.

The angry, threatening clouds had massed themselves once more; the thunder roared; the lightning flashed and the rain fell in torrents.

Leopold walked to the window and looked out. "Walking is out of the question," said he; "will you come for a sail?"

Music filled the evening, and during a lull in the storm the young men reached their lodgings.

Another month had nearly passed. The weather was much warmer, but there was a great incentive to hard work—the book was nearly finished. Quincy had sent down a package of books soon after his return home, and Alice and Rosa had worked even harder than in June.

Another letter went from Miss Very to Mr. Sawyer. It contained but a few words: "The book is done. Miss Pettengill herself wrote the words, 'The end,' on the last page, signed her name, and dated it 'July 30, 186—.' She awaits your verdict."

The first Sunday in August found the young ladies again expectant. Once more they sat on a Sunday morning awaiting the advent of their gentlemen friends. The day was pleasant, but warm. Soon a voice was heard at the front door. Both ladies listened intently; but one person, evidently, was coming upstairs. Alice thought it must be Mr. Sawyer, while Rosa said to herself, "I think it must be Mr. Ernst."

A light knock, the door was opened and Quincy entered.

Rosa looked up inquiringly.

They were both dressed in white, Alice with a sash of blue, while Rosa wore one of pink.

"Then we shall have no reading till next Sunday," remarked Rosa.

"Yes," said Quincy, seating himself in one of the willow rockers; "we have decided upon the following programme, if it meets with Miss Pettengill's approval. I am to listen to the remainder of the book to-day. I will hand the complete manuscript over to him to-morrow afternoon. He will then finish the chapters that he has not read and turn the work over to his firm, with his approval, before he comes down for his rest. If the work is accepted, Mr. Morton, one of the firm, will write him to that effect."

"The plan is certainly satisfactory to me," said Alice, "and Miss Very and I will be delighted to contribute our aid to the proposed celebration."

Rosa then resumed her reading. But dinner time came before it was completed. At that meal they were all introduced to Captain Henry Marble.

"My only brother," Mrs. Gibson said, by way of introduction. "He's just home from a cruise. His ship is at New Bedford. He is going to take the children out late this afternoon for a sail in the harbor. He always does when he comes here. Wouldn't you ladies and Mr. Sawyer like to go with him?"

Captain Marble repeated the invitation, adding that he was an old sailor, that he had a large sailboat, and that they were "only going to Wauwinet, not out to sea, you know, but only up the inner harbor, which is just like a pond, you know."

Rosa thought it would be delightful, but such a trip had no attractions for Alice, and it was finally decided that Rosa should go, while Alice and Mr. Sawyer would remain at home.

The reading of the remaining chapters of Blennerhassett was completed by three o'clock, and at quarter of four, Miss Very, attired in a natty yachting costume, which formed part of her summer outfit, was ready to accompany Captain Marble and the children on their trip.

When they were alone Quincy turned to Alice and said, "I bought another song yesterday morning, which I thought you might like to hear."

"Is it another German song?" asked Alice.

"No," replied Quincy, as he took a roll from the piano and opened it. "It is a duet; the music is by Bosco, but you can tell nothing by that. The composer's real name may be Jones or Smith."

He seated himself at the piano and played it through, as he had done with that other song two long months before.

"I think it more beautiful than the other," said Alice. "Are the words as sweet as those in that other song?"

"Then you have not forgotten the other one," said Quincy, earnestly.

"How could I forget it?" answered Alice. "Rosa has sung it to me several times, but it did not sound to me as it did when you sang it."

"I will sing this one to you," said he; and Alice came and stood by his side at the piano.

Quincy felt that the time to which he had looked forward so long had come at last. He could restrain the promptings of his heart no longer. He loved this woman, and she must know it; even if she rejected that love, he must tell her.

"It is called 'The Bird of Love,'" he said. Then he played the prelude to the song. He sang as he had never sung before; all the power and pathos and love that in him lay were breathed forth in the words and music of that song.

With his voice lingering upon the last word, he turned and looked up at Alice. Upon her face there was a startled, almost frightened look.

"Shall I read the words to you, Miss Pettengill?" There was almost a command in the way he said it. His love had o'ermastered his politeness.

Alice said nothing, but bowed her head.

Then Quincy recited the words of the song. He had no need to read them, for he knew them by heart. It seemed to him that he had written the words himself. He did not even remember the author's name, and Alice stood with bowed head and closed eyes and drank in these words as they fell from his lips:

When Quincy came to the last line, instead of reading it he turned to the piano and sang it with even more passion in his voice than at first.

"Will you try it over with me?" he said. And without waiting for her reply he dashed off the prelude.

"Is it true, Alice?" cried he; "is it so? Can you truly say, 'And so she has in mine?'"

And Alice looked up at him with that glorious smile still upon her face and softly whispered, "'And so she has in mine,' Quincy."

Quincy led her to the lounge by the window, through which the cool evening breeze was blowing, and they sat down side by side. It has been truly said that the conversations of lovers are more appreciated by themselves than by anybody else, and it is equally true that at the most tender moment, in such conversations, intensely disagreeable interruptions are likely to occur.

Sometimes it is the well-meaning but unthinking father; again it is the solicitous but inquisitive mother; but more often it is the unregenerate and disrespectful young brother or sister. In this case it was Miss Rosa Very, who burst into the room, bright and rosy, after her trip upon the water. As she entered she cried out, "Oh! you don't know what you missed. I had a most delightful—" She stopped short, the truth flashed upon her that there were other delightful ways of passing the time than in a sailboat. She was in a dilemma.

Quincy solved the problem. He simply said, "Good-by, Alice, for one short week."

He turned, expecting to see Miss Very, but she had vanished. He clasped Alice in his arms, and kissed her, for the first time, then he led her to her easy-chair and left her there.

As he quitted the room and closed the door he met Miss Rosa Very in the entry.

Quincy pressed her hand warmly, and the next moment was in the little street. He was a rich man, as the world judges riches, but to him his greatest treasure was Alice's first kiss, still warm upon his lips.

THEN THEY WERE MARRIED.

When he bade Alice good-by for a week, Quincy was keeping a promise he had made to his father. The second evening before he had spent with his family at Nahant, and while he was smoking an after-dinner cigar upon the veranda, the Hon. Nathaniel had joined him.

"Quincy," said the latter, "I must ask you when you intend to resume your professional duties. You are now restored to health, and it is my desire that you do so at once."

"While I would not wilfully show disrespect to your wishes, father," said Quincy, calmly, "I must say frankly that I do not care to go back to the office. The study of law is repugnant to me, and its practice would be a daily martyrdom."

"What!" cried the Hon. Nathaniel, starting in his chair. "Perhaps, sir, you have fixed upon a calling that is more elevated and ennobling than the law."

"One more congenial, at any rate," remarked Quincy.

"Then you have chosen a profession," said his father with some eagerness. "May I inquire what it is?"

"It can hardly be called a profession," he answered. "I've bought a third interest in a country grocery store."

"It hasn't come to that yet," remarked Quincy, calmly, "but it may if I find a farmer's daughter who comes up to my ideal of a wife and to whom I can give an honest love."

The Hon. Nathaniel sank back in his chair. Quincy continued, "I will not try to answer your sarcastic reference to the grocery store. It is a good investment and an honorable business, fully as honorable as cheating the prison or the gallows of what is due them; but the summit of my ambition is by no means reached. I am young yet and have plenty of time to study the ground before expanding my career, but I will tell you, privately and confidentially, that my friends have asked me to run for the General Court, and I have about decided to stand as a candidate for nomination as representative from our district."

"I am glad to hear you say that, Quincy," said his father, somewhat mollified, and he edged his arm-chair a little closer to his son, despite the heavy clouds of smoke emitted from Quincy's cigar. "If you get the regular nomination in our district it's tantamount to an election. I need scarcely say that whatever influence I may possess will be exerted in your favor."

"Thank you," said Quincy; "I mean to stump the district, anyway. If I lose the regular nomination I shall take an independent one. I had rather fight my way in than be pushed in."

His father smiled and patted him on the arm. Then they rose from their chairs, Quincy observing that as he was going away early in the morning he would immediately retire.

Quincy's thoughts flew quickly to Nantucket and back. Had he foreseen what was to happen on his coming visit, he would have hesitated still longer, but thinking that, after all, next Sunday's journey might not end any more conclusively than the previous one, he presently turned to his father and answered:

"I will do so. I must go to-morrow, but I will return early on Monday, and will stay at home the entire week."

"I thank you very much, Quincy," said the Hon. Nathaniel, and he laid his hand on his son's shoulder as affectionately as he was capable of doing, when they entered the house.

Lady Elfrida Hastings and her brother, Lord Algernon, arrived in due season, and Quincy was there to assist at their reception. The former was tall, and dark, and stately; her features were cast in a classic mould, but the look in her eye was cold and distant, and the face, though having all the requirements of beauty, yet lacked it. To Mrs. Sawyer and her daughter, Florence, the Lady Elfrida was a revelation, and they yearned to acquire that statuesque repose that comes so natural to the daughter of an earl. But Maude told her brother that evening that the Lady Elfrida was a "prunes and prisms," and was sure to die an old maid.

Lord Algernon was tall and finely built; he had a profusion of light brown curly hair, and a pair of large blue eyes that so reminded Quincy of Alice that he took to the young lord at once. They rode, played billiards, bowled, and smoked together.

One afternoon while they were enjoying a sail in the bay, Quincy inquired of his guest how he liked America.

"'Pon honor, my dear fellow, I don't know," replied Lord Algernon. "I came here for a certain purpose, and have failed miserably. I am going to sail for home in a week, if my sister will go."

"Then you didn't come to enjoy the pleasures of travel?" remarked Quincy, interrogatively.

"No! By Jove, I didn't. My sister did, and she supposes I did. I'm going to tell you the truth, Mr. Sawyer. I know you will respect my confidence." Quincy nodded.

"The fact is," Lord Algernon continued, "I came over here to find a girl that I'm in love with, but who ran away from me as soon as I told her of it."

"But why?" asked Quincy, not knowing what else to say.

"That's the deuce of it," replied Lord Algernon; "I sha'n't know till I find her and ask her. I met her at Nice, in France; she was with her mother, a Mdme. Archimbault; the daughter's name was Celeste—Celeste Archimbault. They said they were not French, they were French Canadians; came from America, you know. I was traveling as plain Algernon Hastings, and I don't think she ever suspected I was the son of an earl. I proposed one evening. She said she must speak to her mother, and if I would come the next evening about seven o'clock, she would give me her answer, and I thought by the look in her eye that she herself was willing to say 'Yes' then. But when I called the next evening they had both gone, no one knew where."

"You are sure she was not an adventuress?" inquired Quincy. "Excuse the question, my lord, but you really knew nothing about her?"

"I knew that I loved her," said Lord Algernon, bluntly, "and I would give half of my fortune to find her. I know she was a true, pure, beautiful girl, and her mother was as honest an old lady as you could find in the world."

"I wish I could help you," remarked Quincy.

Quincy said that he would, and put the card in his cardcase.

He excused himself to Lord Algernon and his sister that evening; a prior engagement made it necessary for him to leave for Boston early next morning, and the farewells were then spoken. Lord Algernon's last words to Quincy were whispered in his ear, "Don't forget her name—Celeste Archimbault!"

The next Sunday morning Quincy and Leopold, as they approached Mrs. Gibson's house on the Cliff, found Rosa Very standing at the little gate. She had on the white dress that she had worn the Sunday before, but which Leopold had not seen. Upon her head was a wide-brimmed straw hat, decked with ribbons and flowers, which intensified the darkness of her hair and eyes."

"Don't forget her name—Celeste Archimbault," came into Quincy's mind, but he said, "Nonsense," to himself, and dismissed the thought.

"All ready for a walk on the Cliff?" asked Leopold, as he raised his hat and extended his hand to Rosa. She shook hands with him and then with Quincy. She opened the little gate, placed her hand on Leopold's arm and they walked on up the Cliff Road.

As Quincy entered the little parlor, Alice sprang toward him with a cry of joy. He caught her in his arms, and this time one kiss did not suffice, for a dozen were pressed on hair and brow and cheek and lips.

"It is so long since you went away," said Alice.

"Only one short week," replied Quincy.

"Short! Those six days have seemed longer than all the time we were together at Eastborough. I cannot let you go away from me again," she cried.

"Stay with Me, My Darling, Stay," sang Quincy, in a low voice, and Alice tried to hide her blushing face upon his shoulder.

Then they sat down and talked the matter over. "I must leave you," said Quincy, "and only see you occasionally, and then usually in the presence of others, unless—"

"Unless what?" cried Alice, and a sort of frightened look came into her face.

"Unless you marry me at once," said Quincy. "I don't mean this minute; say Wednesday of this coming week. I have a license with me I got in Boston yesterday morning. We'll be married quietly in this little room, in which you first told me that you loved me. We could be married in a big church in Boston, with bridesmaids, and groomsmen, and music on a big organ. We could make as big a day of it as they did down to Eastborough."

"Oh, no!" said Alice; "I couldn't go through that. I cannot see well enough, and I might make some terrible blunder. I might trip and fall, and then I should be so nervous and ashamed."

"I will not ask you to go through such an ordeal, my dearest. I know that we could have all these grand things, and for that reason, if for no better one, I'm perfectly willing to go without them. No, Alice, we will be married here in this room. We will deck it with flowers," continued Quincy. "Leopold will go to Boston to-morrow and get them. Rosamond's Bower was not sweeter nor more lovely than we will make this little room. I will get an old clergyman; I don't like young ones; Leopold shall be my best man and Rosa shall be your bridesmaid. Mrs. Gibson and her brother, who I see is still here, shall be our witnesses, and we will have Tommy and Dolly for ushers."

"And economical, too," Quincy added with a laugh.

And so it came to pass! They were married, and the transformation in the little room, that Quincy and Alice had seen in their mind's eye, was realized to the letter. Flowers, best man, bridesmaid, witnesses, ushers, and the aged clergyman, with whitened locks, who called them his children, and blessed them and wished them long life and happiness, hoped that they would meet and know each other some day in the infinite—all were there.

This was on Wednesday. On Thursday came a letter from Aunt Ella. It contained the most kindly congratulations, and a neat little wedding present of a check for fifty thousand dollars. She wrote further that she was lonesome and wanted somebody to read to her, and talk to her, and sing to her. If the book was done, would not Miss Very come to spend the remainder of the season with her, and if Mr. Ernst was there could he not spare time to escort Miss Very.

That same evening Leopold received a letter from Mr. Morton. It simply read, "Blennerhassett accepted; will be put in type at once and issued by the first of November, perhaps sooner."

The next morning Leopold and Rosa started for Old Orchard, and the lovers were left alone to pass their honeymoon, with the blue sea about them, the blue sky above them, and a love within their hearts which grew stronger day by day.

LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT.

For Quincy and Alice, day after day, and week after week, found them in a state of complete happiness. The little island floating in the azure sea was their world, and for the time, no thought of any other intruded upon their delightful Eden. It seemed to Quincy all a blissful dream of love, and everything he looked upon was wreathed in flowers and golden sunshine.

But lotus land is not so far distant from the abodes of mortal man but that his emissaries may reach it. The first jarring note in the sweet harmony of their married life came in the form of a letter from Dr. Culver, who wrote to remind Quincy that it would soon be time to start in ploughing the political field. Quincy's reply was brief and to the point.

"My Dear Culver:—I will see you in Boston on the tenth of September.

Q.A.S."

When Aunt Ella learned that her nephew was going to town, she made hurried preparations for her departure from Old Orchard, and wrote to him insisting that he and Alice should come and stay with her. This invitation they gladly accepted, Quincy arranging in his mind to explain matters to his family by saying that, as he had now entered politics and would necessarily have a great many callers to entertain, he thought it best to make his headquarters with Aunt Ella until the campaign was over.

"Please rush. Press is waiting."

Miss Very's assistance was now absolutely necessary, but when Quincy asked Leopold for her address, he was surprised at the reply he received.

"I haven't seen her," said Leopold, "since we came back from Old Orchard together. In fact, since that time, our relations, for some reason or other, have undergone a great change. However, I think I can help you out. I don't believe in keeping a good friend like you, Quincy, in suspense, so I will tell you the truth. I am married. My wife is fully as competent to assist Mrs. Sawyer as Miss Very would have been. She is in the library now at work. I will go and ask her."

He entered the room, closing the door behind him. Quincy threw himself rather discontentedly into a chair. He fancied he heard laughing in the next room, but he knew Alice would be disappointed, and he himself felt in no mood for laughter.

Leopold opened the library door. "Quincy, I've induced her to undertake the task," he said. "Do spare a moment from your work, Mrs. Ernst; I wish to introduce to you Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, the husband of the author of that coming literary sensation, Blennerhassett. Mr. Sawyer," he continued, "allow me to present you to my wife, Mrs. Rosa Ernst." And as he said this, Leopold and Rosa stood side by side in the doorway.

"When did you do it?" finally ejaculated Quincy, rushing forward and grasping each by the hand. "Leopold, I owe you one." And then they all laughed together.

But Quincy never knew that the Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer had used all his influence to secure his son's election, and for every dollar expended by Dalton, the Hon. Nathaniel had covered it with a two or five if necessary.

The publication of Blennerhassett had been heralded by advance notices that appeared in the press during the month of October.

These notices had been adroitly written. Political prejudices, one notice said, would no doubt be aroused by statements made in the book, and one newspaper went so far as to publish a double-leaded editorial protesting against the revival of party animosities buried more than two generations ago. The leaven worked, and when the book was placed in the stores on the eleventh of November, the demand for it was unparalleled. Orders came for it from all parts of the country, particularly from the State of New York, and the resources of the great publishing house of Hinckley, Morton, & Co. were taxed to the utmost to meet the demand.

While Quincy was fighting Dalton in the political field, another campaign was being planned in the clever diplomatic brain of Aunt Ella. It related to the introduction of Alice, the "farmer's daughter," to the proud patrician family of Sawyer, as Quincy's wife—no easy matter to accomplish satisfactorily, as all agreed.

The initial step was taken a couple of weeks after Thanksgiving, when a daintily-engraved card was issued from Mt. Vernon Street, which read:

"Your company is respectfully requested on the evening of the tenth of December at a reception to be given to Bruce Douglas, the author of Blennerhassett."

One evening, Quincy ran up the steps of the Mt. Vernon Street house. He opened the door and started to run up the stairs to his wife's room, as was his custom, when he came into collision with a young lady, who, upon closer inspection, he found to be his sister Maude.

"Come in here," she said. She grasped him by the arm, and, dragging him into the parlor, she closed the door behind him.

"Oh, Mr. Man!" she cried, "I've found you out, but horses sha'n't drag it out of me. No, Quincy, you're always right, and I won't peach. But 'twas mean not to tell me."

Quincy looked at her in voiceless astonishment. "What do you mean, Maude, and where did you gather up all that slang?"

"I might ask you," said Maude, "where you found your wife. I've been talking to her upstairs. She must have thought that papa and mamma knew all about it, for she told me who she was, just as easy. Who is she, Quincy?"

He drew his sister down beside him on a sofa. "She was Miss Mary Alice Pettengill. She is now known to a limited few, of which you, sister Maude, are one, as Mrs. Mary Alice Sawyer; but she is known to a wide circle of readers as Bruce Douglas, the author of many popular stories, as also of that celebrated book entitled Blennerhassett."

"Now, Maude," said Quincy, "you go right home and keep your mouth shut a little while longer, and when you are sixteen"—"the ninth of next January," broke in Maude—"I'll give you a handsome gold watch, with my picture in it."

"I don't have to be paid to keep your secrets, Quincy," replied Maude archly, as Quincy kissed her.

"I know it, dear," said Quincy; "I'll give you the watch, not as pay, but to show my gratitude."

Quincy took an early opportunity to explain to his wife his remissness in not informing his parents of his marriage, and disclosed to her Aunt Ella's plan.

On the tenth, Mrs. Chessman's spacious parlor was thronged from nine till eleven o'clock with bright and shining lights, representing the musical, artistic, literary, and social culture of Boston. Among the guests were the Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer, his wife, and his daughters, Florence and Maude. The surprise of the visitors at the discovery that Bruce Douglas was a young woman was followed by one of great pleasure at finding her beautiful and affable.

The reception and entertainment were acknowledged on all sides to have been most successful, and a thoroughly pleased and satisfied company had spoken their farewells to author and hostess by quarter-past eleven. So, when Quincy came up Walnut Street and glanced across at his aunt's house, a little before twelve, he found the windows dark and the occupants, presumably, in their beds.

As part of her plan, Quincy had been advised by Aunt Ella to stay away from the reception, to spend the night at his father's house, and to be sure and take breakfast with them, so as to hear what was said about the previous evening.

As soon as the morning meal was over, Quincy ran quickly upstairs, seized his hand-bag, which he always kept packed, ready for an emergency, and in a very short space of time, reached Mt. Vernon Street. He found his wife and aunt in the den. The latter was reading a manuscript to Alice.

As soon as the greetings were over, and a little time given to discussing the reception, Quincy asked: "Who is this Mr. Fernborough that Maude told me about this morning?"

"He is an English gentleman," explained Alice, "who has come to this country to see if he can find any trace of an only daughter, who ran away from home with an American more than thirty years ago, and who, he thinks, came to this country with her husband. His wife is dead, he is alone in the world, and he is ready to forgive her and care for her, if she needs it."

"He hasn't hurried himself about it, has he?" said Quincy; "but why did he come to you?"

"That's the strange part of it," Alice replied, "He said he thoughtlessly picked up a magazine at a hotel where he was staying, and his eye fell upon my story, How He Lost Both Name and Fortune. He read it, and sought me out, to ask if it were fiction, or whether it was founded on some true incident. He was quite disappointed when I told him it was entirely a work of the imagination."

"Did he say what hotel?" asked Quincy.

"No," replied Alice; "but why are you so interested in a total stranger?"

Then Quincy told the story of the broken envelope—the little piece of cloth—and the name, Linda Fernborough.

"But what did your father and mother say?" broke in Aunt Ella.

"My father took me to task," began Quincy, "for not being present at the reception, but I told him I had to see Culver on some political business. Then he remarked that I missed a very pleasant evening. He complimented Aunt Ella, here, for her skill as an entertainer, and expressed his surprise that Bruce Douglas, instead of being a young man, was a young and very beautiful woman. Yes, Aunt Ella, he actually called my wife here a very beautiful young woman."

"That is a capital beginning!" cried Aunt Ella. "Go on, Quincy."

"In order to continue the conversation, I ventured the remark that Bruce Douglas came from an ordinary country family and one not very well off; for which aspersion, I humbly ask your pardon, Mrs. Sawyer. Father replied that he thought that I must have been misinformed; that Bruce Douglas was worth fifty thousand dollars in her own right, and he added that she would become a very wealthy woman if she kept up her literary activity."

"What did sister Sarah say?" asked Aunt Ella.

"Well," said Quincy, "I resolved to do something desperate, so I asked: 'Doesn't she look countrified?' again asking your pardon, Mrs. Sawyer."

"No," said mother, "she has the repose of a Lady Clara Vere de Vere, and is as correct in her speech as was the Lady Elfrida Hastings."

"It will come out all right," cried Aunt Ella; and Quincy, kissing his aunt and wife, and promising to write or telegraph every day, caught up his hand-bag and started forth in search of the Hon. Stuart Fernborough, M.P.

At the Quincy House the clerk was busy with a number of new arrivals. He had just opened a new hotel register, and the old one lay upon the counter. Quincy took it up, and turning over the leaves, glanced up and down its pages. Suddenly he started back; then, holding the book closer to his eyes he read it again. There it was, under the date of September 10, "Mdme. Rose Archimbault and daughter." The residence given in the proper column was "New York." Quincy kept the book open at the place where he found this entry until the clerk was at leisure. He remembered Mdme. Archimbault and daughter in a general way. He was sure that they arrived from Europe the day that they came to the hotel, and he was equally sure that they went to New York when they left. What made him positive was that he remembered asking the young lady when she wrote New York in the register if she had not just returned from Europe. She said yes, but that her home residence was in New York.

Quincy thanked the clerk, and started forth again in search of the elusive Mr. Fernborough. A visit to Young's, Parker's, and the Tremont furnished no clue, and Quincy was wondering whether his search, after all, was destined to be fruitless, when he thought of a small hotel in Central Court, which led from Washington Street, a little south of Summer Street.

It was noted for its English roast beef, Yorkshire mutton chops, and musty ale, and might be just the sort of place that an English gentleman would put up at, provided he had been informed of its whereabouts.

On his way Quincy dropped into the Marlborough, but Mr. Fernborough had not been there, and Quincy imagined that the little hotel in Central Court was his last hope.

Quincy's story was soon told. The old gentleman listened with breathless interest, and when at the close Quincy said, "What do you think?" Mr. Fernborough cried, "It must be she, my daughter's child. There are no other Fernboroughs in England, and Linda has been a family name for generations. Heaven bless you, young man, for your kindly interest, and take me to my grandchild at once. She is the only tie that binds me to earth. All the others are dead and gone."

The old gentleman broke down completely, and for several minutes was unable to speak.

Quincy waited until his emotion had somewhat subsided. Then he said, "I am at your service, sir; we will do our best to find her. I have a feeling that she is in New York, but not a single fact to prove it. We can take the one o'clock train, if you desire."

The old gentleman began at once to prepare for the journey. Quincy told him he would meet him at the hotel office, and from there he sent a note to Aunt Ella informing her of his intended departure.

Arriving in New York they were driven at once to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Quincy prevailed upon Sir Stuart to retire at once, telling him that he would prepare an advertisement and have it in the next morning's issue of the "New York Herald."