e the story of her
poverty and dependence, had so fascinated him. It cut him to the quick
that she should so avoid him, when he knew well that between her and
Mr. Holmes there had been an exchange of notes. Mr. Holmes had seen fit
to preserve a mysterious silence as to this significant circumstance,
and finally, apparently by appointment, Mr. Holmes had called at Bedlam
the evening after his arrival, and had enjoyed a long and uninterrupted
conversation with Miss Forrest out on the upper gallery. Now what did
this portend? It was Celestine who gave him this very interesting
information as he entered the lower hall, and, despite his repellant
mien, that enterprising domestic was sufficiently a judge of character
to venture on a low and confidential tone of voice in addressing him.
He had scowled malignantly at her and had bidden her hold her peace as
he passed her by, but Celestine was in no wise dismayed. She knew her
man. It was on his return from his visit that he sent his note, and
then, in the gloom and silence of his library, pondered over the
palpable rebuff. Over across the hall he could hear the soft voices of
his daughter and her now intimate friend Jean. They were cooing and
murmuring together in some girlish confidences which he was in no mood
to appreciate, and with which he could feel no sympathy whatever. Then
in came Holmes from the sunshine of the parade; and he heard him
cheerily enter the parlor, and in hearty, cordial tones announce that
he had just come from Mr. McLean's room, that that young gentleman was
doing finely, and would be able to sit out on the piazza in a day or
two, and that Mrs. Miller was nursing him like a mother. For a time the
chat went blithely on, Jeannie Bruce and Holmes being the principals,
and then came a message which called that young lassie homeward.

Presently Bayard heard the manly voice growing deeper and softer. The
words were indistinguishable, but there was no misjudging the tone,
such was the tremor of tenderness of every syllable. Faint, far
between, and monosyllabic were Nellie's replies, but soon the father
knew she was answering through her tears. It did not last long. Holmes
came to the hall, turned and spoke once more to her,--no touch of
reproach, no tinge of pleading, but with a ring of manly sympathy and
protecting care in every word; Bayard could not but hear one sentence:
"It makes me only more firmly your friend, little girl,--and his, too."
And then he s