his face
was pale; he trembled, and his breath came in half gasps.

Mrs. Hamlin was silent a moment. Then, looking up, she said: "Have you
spoken of this to Jack?"

"Not one word," he replied.

"Or to Grace?"

"O, Mrs. Hamlin, believe me, not one word."

The lady leaned her head upon her hand for a few moments. Then, looking
up, she said: "You ask me what to do. I cannot help you. But my judgment
would be that you go directly to Grace and ask her help. I have not the
slightest idea of her sentiments toward you, but if she does not care for
you and thinks she never can, she will frankly tell you. If she does love
you, she is probably suffering more than you are."

"O, Mrs. Hamlin," said Sedgwick, "are you willing that I shall speak to
her, that I shall tell her how much she is to me?"

"Quite willing," was the answer; spoken after a moment's thought.
"Believe me, I never suspected anything of this kind, never in the least,
or I should not have stopped you here; but if Grace loves you I shall be
most glad. And one thing more. Should Grace be willing to accept your
attentions, for the present, please, do not speak to Mr. Hamlin or to
Jack. I have my special reasons for making this request. I ask it because
Mr. Hamlin is peculiar, and Grace is my child, in fact, while he is but
her step-father."

Then she arose, held out her hand and smiled. Then her face became grave,
and she leaned over the young man, kissed his forehead, and left the
hall.

When the door closed Sedgwick put his hands before his eyes as though to
ward off a great light; and when he removed them his lips were moving and
his face wore a softened and exalted look, such as Saul's might have worn
after he saw the "great light."

Dinner was hardly over that evening when Jack disappeared. He spent
nearly all his evenings with Rose, and so his absence was not remarked.
Mr. Hamlin had been called away to Scotland for two or three days on
business. Mrs. Hamlin, Grace and Sedgwick passed into the parlor. After a
little conversation, Sedgwick asked Grace to sing, and as she went to the
piano Mrs. Hamlin arose and left the room.

Grace struck the instrument softly, and in a moment began to sing. The
piece she selected was the old one beginning:

"Could you come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true."

There was a strange thrill in the