uriosity, and what little they have they would not,
being of Miss Sally's station in life, descend to gratify by
eavesdropping. Let it be assumed, therefore, that the much vaunted
informant, feminine intuition, told Miss Sally of the end of the
interview between her niece and the captain, both as to the time of
that end and as to its nature.

She entered, tremulous with a vast idea that had blazed suddenly on
her mind. Now that Elizabeth was quite through with Peyton, now that
Peyton must be low in his self-esteem for Elizabeth's humiliation of
him, and therefore likely to be grateful for consolatory attentions,
Miss Sally might resume her own hopes. But there was no time to be
lost.

"Your pardon, captain," she began, sweetly, with her most flattering
smile. "I am looking for Miss Elizabeth."

"She was here awhile ago," replied Peyton, glumly, not bringing his
eyes within range of the smile. "She went that way. I trust you've
recovered from your attack."

"My attack?" inquiringly, with surprise.

"The queer spell, I think Miss Philipse called it. She said you were
subject to them."

"Well, how does she dare--" She checked her tongue, lest she might
betray the device for his detention. Something in his absent, careless
way of associating her with a queer spell irritated her a little for
the moment, and impelled her to retaliation. "I suppose that was not
the only thing she said to you?" she added, ingenuously.

"No,--she said other things." He rose and went to the fireplace,
leaned against the mantel, and gazed pensively at the red embers.

"They don't seem to have left you very cheerful," ventured Miss
Sally.

"Not so very damned cheerful!--I beg your pardon."

Miss Sally's moment of resentment had passed. Now was the time to
strike for herself. She thought she had hit on a clever plan of
getting around to the matter.

"Captain," said she, "you're a man of the world. I know it's
presumptuous of me to ask it, but--if you would give me a word of
advice--"

Peyton did not take his look from the fire, or his thoughts from their
dismal absorption. He answered, half-unconsciously:

"Oh, certainly! Anything at all."

"You are aware, of course," she went on, with smirking, rosy
confusion, "that Mr. Valentine is a widower."

"Indeed? Oh, yes, yes, I know."

"Yes, a widower twice over."

"How sad! He must feel twice the usual amount of grief."

"Why,--I don't know exactly about that."

"The poor man ha