fear, she
had at last conducted him into the upper hall, and out upon an open
veranda, where in the moonlight he awaited the coming of the
bridegroom, who, with some curiosity, approached him, asking what he
wanted.

"It may seem strange to you," said Mr. Douglass, "that I insist upon
seeing you now, when another time might do as well, but I believe in
having a fair understanding all round."

"Meddling old rascal!" exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, who, of course,
was within hearing, bending her ears so as not to lose a word.

But in this she was thwarted, for drawing nearer to John Jr., Mr.
Douglass said, so low as to prevent her catching anything further,
save the sound of his voice:

"I do not accuse you of being at all mercenary, but such things have
been, and there has something come to my knowledge to-day, which I
deem it my duty to tell you, so that hereafter you can neither blame
me nor Mabel."

"What is it?" asked John Jr., and Mr. Douglass replied, "To be brief,
then, Mabel's large fortune is, with the exception of a few
thousands, of which I have charge, all swept away by the recent
failure of the Planters' Bank, in which it was invested. I heard of
it this morning, and determined on telling you, knowing that if you
loved her for herself, it would make no difference, while if you
loved her for her money, it were far better to stop here."

Nothing could have been further from John's thoughts than a desire
for Mabel's wealth, which, precious as it seemed in his mother's
eyes, was valueless to him, and after a moment's silence, in which he
was thinking what a rich disappointment it would be to his mother,
who, he knew, prized Mabel only for her money, he exclaimed, "Good,
I'm glad of it. I never sought Mabel's hand for what there was in
it, and I'm more ready to marry her now than ever. But," he added,
as a sudden impulse of good came over him, "She need not know it; it
would trouble her uselessly, and for the present we'll keep it from
her."

John Jr. had always been a puzzle to Mr. Douglass, who by turns
censured and admired him, but now there was but one feeling in his
bosom toward him, and that was one of unbounded respect. With a warm
pressure of the hand he turned away, thinking, perchance, of his fair
young daughter, who, far away o'er the Atlantic waves, little dreamed
of the scene on which that summer moon was shining. As the
conference ended; Mrs. Livingstone, who had learned nothing, glided,