to
leave them that evening. When, however, the carriage which was to
take him away stood at the gate, she went down to bid him good-by,
and ask him to visit them again.

"I shall be happy to do so," he said; and then, as they were
standing alone together, he continued: "Though I have not seen as
much of you as I wished, I shall remember my visit at Laurel Hill
with pleasure. In Hampton there are not many ladies for whose
acquaintance I particularly care, and I have often wished that I had
some female friend with whom I could correspond, and thus while away
some of my leisure moments. Will my Cousin Maude answer me if I
should some time chance to write to her mere friendly, cousinly
letters, of course?"

This last he said because he mistook the deep flush on Maude's cheek
for an unwillingness to do anything which looked at all like "making
love."

"I will write," was all Maude had a chance to say ere Nellie joined
them, accompanied by J.C., who had not yet terminated his visit at
Laurel Hill, and as soon as his cousin left he intended removing to
the hotel, where he would be independent of Dr. Kennedy, and at the
same time, devote himself to the daughter or stepdaughter, just as
he should feel inclined.

Some such idea might have intruded itself upon the mind of James,
for, when at parting he took his cousin's hand, he said, "You have
my good wishes for your success with Nellie, but--"

"But not with t'other one, hey?" laughingly rejoined J.C., adding
that James need have no fears, for there was not the slightest
possibility of his addressing the milkman's heiress.

Alas for J.C.'s honesty! Even while he spoke there was treachery in
his saucy eyes, for the milkman's heiress, as he called her, was not
to him an object of dislike, and when, after the carriage drove
away, he saw the shadows on her face, and suspected their cause, he
felt a strong desire that his departure might affect her in a
similar manner. That evening, too, when Nellie sang to him his
favorite song, he kept one ear turned toward the chamber above,
where, in a low, sweet voice, Maude Remington sang her suffering
brother to sleep.

The next morning he removed to the hotel, saying he should probably
remain there during the summer, as the air of Laurel Hill was highly
conducive to his rather delicate health; but whether he meant the
invigorating breeze which blew front the surrounding hills, or an
heir of a more substantial kind, time and our sto