hing the agitated girl, and begging her to be calm. "You've only
to be decided," said she, "and it will soon be over. Captain
Atherton, I am sure, will not insist when he sees how repugnant to
your feelings it is."

But Anna knew her own weakness--she could never say, in her mother's
presence, what she felt--and trembling like an aspen, she descended
the stairs, meeting in the lower hall her brother, who asked what was
the matter.

"Oh, John, John," she cried, "Captain Atherton is in there with
mother, and they have sent for me. What shall I do?"

"Be a woman," answered John Jr. "Tell him _no_ in good broad
English, and if the old fellow insists, I'll blow his brains out!"

But the Captain did not insist. He was too cunning for that, and
when, with a burst of tears, Anna told him she could not be his wife
because she loved another, he said, good-humoredly, "Well, well,
never mind spoiling those pretty blue eyes. I'm not such an old
savage as you think me. So we'll compromise the matter this way. If
you really love Malcolm, why, marry him, and on your bridal day I'll
make you a present of a nice little place I have in Frankfort; but
if, on the other hand, Malcolm proves untrue, you must promise to
have me. Come, that's a fair bargain. What do you say?"

"Malcolm will never prove untrue," answered Anna.

"Of course not," returned the captain. "So you are safe in
promising.'

"But what good will it do you?" queried Anna.

"No good, in particular," said the captain. "It's only a whim of
mine, to which I thought you might perhaps agree, in consideration of
my offer."

"I do--I will," said Anna, thinking the captain not so bad after all.

"There's mischief somewhere, and I advise you to watch," said John
Jr., when he learned from Anna the result of the interview.

But week after week glided by. Mrs. Livingstone's persecutions
ceased, and she sometimes herself handed to Anna Malcolm's letters,
which came regularly, and when about the first of March Captain
Atherton himself went off to Washington, Anna gave her fears to the
wind, and all the day long went singing about the house, unmindful of
the snare laid for her unsuspecting footsteps. At length Malcolm's
letters suddenly ceased, and though Anna wrote again and again, there
came no answer. Old Caesar, who always carried and brought the mail
for Maple Grove, was questioned, but he declared he "done got none
from Mas'r Everett," and suspicion in th