you there were more than one--has hazel
eyes, pink cheeks, auburn curls, and the dearest little ways. She
is not beautiful--she is not stately--she does not play and sing
the soul out of your body, and yet--and yet----. Lauderdale, you
always told me my peerless fiancee was a thousand times too good
for me. I never believed you before. I do believe you now. She
soars beyond my reach sometimes. I don't pretend to understand her,
and--tell it not in Gath--I stand a little in awe of her. I never
was on speaking terms with her most gracious majesty, whom Heaven
long preserve; but, if I were, I fancy I should feel as I do
sometimes talking to Kate. She is perfection, and I am--well, I am
not, and she is very fond of me. Would she break her heart, do you
think, if she does not become Mrs. Reginald Stanford? June is the
time, but there is many a slip. I know what your answer will
be--'She will break her heart if she does!' It is a bad business,
old boy; but it is fate, or we will say so--and hazel eyes and
auburn curls are very, very tempting.

"You used to think a good deal of Captain Danton, if I recollect
right. By the way, how old is the Captain? I ask, because there is
a housekeeper here, who is a distant cousin, one of the family,
very quiet, sensible, lady-like, and six and twenty, who may be
Mrs. Captain Danton one day. Mind, I don't say for certain, but I
have my suspicions. He couldn't do better. Grace--that's her
name--has a brother here, a doctor, very fine fellow, and so cute.
I catch him looking at me sometimes in a very peculiar manner,
which I think I understand.

"You don't expect me before June, do you? Nevertheless, don't faint
if I return to our 'right little, tight little' island before that.
Meantime, write and let me know how the world wags with you; and,
only I know it is out of your line, I should ask you to offer a
prayer for your unfortunate friend

"Reginald Stanford."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE GHOST AGAIN.

Rose Danton stood leaning against the low, old-fashioned chimney piece
in her bedroom staring at the fire with a very sulky face. Those who
fell in love with pretty Rose should have seen her in her sulky moods,
if they wished to be thoroughly disenchanted. Just at present, as she
stood looking gloomily into the fire, she was wondering