down old woman any items of family history that might serve my
purpose. I'll call on the nurse--what's her name--to-night."

He glanced across the meadow to where stood the cottage of Nurse
Hagar, and, as if satisfied with himself and his brilliant last idea,
resumed his walk. Presently his pace slackened again, and he looked at
the crumpled paper which he still retained in his hand, saying:

"It's queer what sent Cora to the city for this flying visit. I must
keep my Madeline out of her way. If they should meet--whew!"

Evidently, direful things might ensue from a meeting between Madeline
Payne and this unknown Cora, for after a prolonged whistle, a brief
moment of silence, and then a short laugh, Davlin said:

"I should wear a wig, at least," and he laughed again. "I wonder, by
Jove! I wonder if old Arthur's money bags are heavy enough to make a
card for Cora. Well, I'll find that out, too."

CHAPTER II.

THE OLD TREE'S REVELATIONS.

Meanwhile, strange feelings filled the heart, and troublesome thoughts
the head, of Madeline Payne.

She looked about her sorrowfully. The leafy wood seemed one of her
oldest, truest friends. Since her mother's death, she had lived, save
for the faithful regard of old Hagar, an unloved life. In the only
home she knew, she felt herself an object of dislike, and met only
cold neglect, or rude repulsion. So she had made a friend of the shady
wood, and welcomed back the birds, in early Springtime, with joyful
anticipation of Summer rest under green branches, lulled and soothed
by their songs.

Wandering here, the acquaintance between herself and Lucian Davlin
had begun. Here six long, bright weeks of the Springtime had passed,
each day finding them lingering longer among the leafy shadows, and
drawing closer about them both the cords of a destiny sad for one,
fatal for each.

Standing with hands clasped loosely before her, eyes down dropped, and
foot tapping the mossy turf, Madeline presented a picture of youth and
loveliness such as is rarely seen even in a beauty-abounding land. A
form of medium height which would, in later years, develop much of
stately grace; a complexion of lily-like fairness; and eyes as deep
and brown, as tender and childlike, as if their owner were gazing,
ever and always, as infants gaze who see only great, grand wonders,
and never a woe or fear.

With a wee, small mouth, matching the eyes in expression, the face was
one to strike a casual obse