APTER XIII.

Lights streamed gayly from every window of Mr. Hilton's spacious and
hospitable mansion, where a party of friends had assembled to celebrate
the return of the long-lost Agnes. This gentleman, whose letter had
confirmed to Arthur, while yet in France, the painful intelligence of
the destruction of the steamer in which Agnes had embarked, and the
subsequent supposed shipwreck of its passengers, had been among the
first to hasten to welcome her home, for a warm admirer of woman in
general, Miss Wiltshire had secured his especial regard, and having no
daughters of his own, he used often to remark to his excellent wife,
that there was but one thing he envied Mr. Denham, and that was the
possession of so winningly lovely a niece.

The party had been postponed from time to time, awaiting Mr. Denham's
recovery, and it was not until early in July, that his perfect
restoration to health, enabled him, together with Mrs. Denham, to
accompany his niece on this festive occasion.

Mr. Denham, as he entered the brilliantly illuminated drawing-room,
seemed by his appearance almost to have recovered his youth, so much so,
as to call forth from more than one of the company,--

"The old gentleman is looking twenty years younger, than when I last saw
him. What a change the return of his niece has made."

Mr. and Mrs. Denham were accompanied by Mr. Clifford, on whose arm Agnes
leaned as she entered the room. His fine form, no longer enveloped in
sailor-garb, but in more appropriate costume, was displayed to full
advantage, and elicited the admiration of not a few of the ladies, as
the whispers, here and there, of "What a fine looking-man; so tall, and
dignified, so imposing in appearance,"--bore ample testimony.

Agnes was attired in snowy white; a few rose-buds forming her only
ornament; her face was lit up with a joyous smile, as she greeted one
after another of her old companions; and there was something in the
expression of that countenance, a blending of the highest and loftiest
emotions, with all the social tenderness in which woman finds her chief
earthly happiness, so irresistibly attractive, that he who could turn
away coldly or unmoved, must indeed be a cynic, if not the veriest stoic
that ever trod our beautiful earth.

In a recess, formed by a large bow window, and which, though at the
furthest end of the room, was admirably fitted for a looker-on,
commanding, as it did, a view of the whole, two ladies were