e arbor. The radiant light was still in her eyes,
a soft color mantled her cheeks, and she smiled like summer itself on
the old man.

He looked at her with puzzled, dull wonder and admiration.

"What's come to Miss Frances?" he said to himself. "She looks rare and
handsome, and she's none so old."

The question of the bees was attended to, and then Frances paced about
in the mellow June twilight until it was time for her father to have his
coffee. She came in then, sat down rather in the shadow, and spoke
abruptly. Her heart was beating with great bounds, and her voice sounded
almost cold in her effort to steady it.

"Father, I, too, have had a letter to-day."

"Ay, ay, my love. I saw that the carrier brought two. Was it of any
importance? If not, we might go on with our 'History of Greece.' I was
interested in where we left off last night. You might read to me for an
hour before I go to bed, Frances; unless, indeed, you have anything more
to say about Fluff, dear little soul! Do you know, it occurred to me
that we ought to get fresh curtains and knickknacks for her room? It
ought to look nice for her, dear, bright little thing!"

"So it shall, father." There was no shade of impatience in Frances's
tone. "We will talk of Fluff presently. But it so happens that my
letter was of importance. Father, you remember Philip Arnold?"

"Arnold--Arnold? Dimly, my dear, dimly. He was here once, wasn't he? I
rather fancy that I heard of his death. What about him, Frances?"

Frances placed her hand to her fast-beating heart. Strange--her father
remembered dimly the man she had thought of, and dreamed of, and
secretly mourned for for ten long years.

"Philip Arnold is not dead," she said, still trying to steady her voice.
"It was a mistake, a false rumor. He has explained it--my letter was
from him."

"Really, my love? Don't you think there is a slight draught coming from
behind that curtain? I am so sensitive to draughts, particularly after
hot days. Oblige me, Frances, my dear, by drawing that curtain a little
more to the right. Ah, that is better. So Arnold is alive. To tell the
truth, I don't remember him very vividly, but of course I'm pleased to
hear that he is not cut off in his youth. A tall, good-looking fellow,
wasn't he? Well, well, this matter scarcely concerns us. How about the
dimity in the room which will be Fluff's? My dear Frances, what is the
matter? I must ask you not to fidget so."

Frances sprung sudd