r made her a favourite
at home and abroad. John Greylston loved her dearly; he always thought
she looked like his chosen bride, Ellen Day. Perhaps there was some
likeness, for Annie had the same bright eyes, and the same pouting,
rose-bud lips--but Margaret thought she was more like their own family.
She loved to trace a resemblance in the smiling face, rich golden curls,
and slight figure of Annie to her young sister Edith, who died when
Annie was a little baby. Just sixteen years old was Annie, and wild and
active as any deer, as her city-bred sisters sometimes declared half
mournfully.

Somehow, Annie Bermond thought it uncommonly grave and dull at the
dinner-table, yet why should it be so? Her uncle and aunt, as kind
and dear as ever, were there; she, herself, a blithe fairy, sat in her
accustomed seat; the day was bright, birds were singing, flowers were
gleaming, but there was a change. What could it be? Annie knew not, yet
her quick perception warned her of the presence of some trouble--some
cloud. In her haste to talk and cheer her uncle and aunt, the poor child
said what would have been best left unsaid.

"How beautiful those trees are; I mean those pines on the hill; don't
you admire them very much, Uncle John?"

"Tolerably," was the rather short answer. "I am too well used to trees
to go into the raptures of my little city niece about them;" and all
this time Margaret looked fixedly down upon the floor.

"Don't you frown so, uncle, or I will run right home to-morrow," said
Annie, with the assurance of a privileged pet; "but I was going to ask
you about the rock just back of those pines. Do you and Aunt Margaret
still go there to see the sunset? I was thinking about you these two
past evenings, when the sunsets were so grand, and wishing I was with
you on the rock; and you were both there, weren't you?"

This time John Greylston gave no answer, but his sister said briefly,

"No, Annie, we have not been at the rock for several evenings;" and then
a rather painful silence followed.

Annie at last spoke:

"You both, somehow, seem so changed and dull; I would just like to
know the reason. May be aunty is going to be married. Is that it, Uncle
John?"

Miss Margaret smiled, but the colour came brightly to her face.

"If this is really so, I don't wonder you are sad and grave; you,
especially, Uncle John; how lonely and wretched you would be! Oh! would
you not be very sorry if Aunt Madge should leave you,