she
had just learned, that Miss Haines had received letters from "the lower
country," the handwriting of the directions of which indicated that she
had advices from both her friends. But poor Miss More, with never a
string to her bow and never a beau to her string, might be forgiven for
shooting popguns that did no harm.

There was a time when Priscilla had letters from only one. Henry was
very ill, and D'Entremont wrote bulletins of his condition to Priscilla
and to his family. In one of these it was announced that he was beyond
recovery, and Priscilla and Anna mingled their tears together. Then
there came a letter saying that he was better. Then he was worse again.
And then better.

In those days the mail was brought wholly by steamboats, and it took
many days for intelligence to come. But the next letter that Priscilla
had was from Henry Stevens himself. It was filled from first to last
with praises of the marquis; that he had taken Henry out of his
boarding place, and put him into his own large room in the St. Charles;
that he had nursed him with more than a friend's tenderness, scarcely
sleeping at all; that he had sold his cargo, relieved his mind of care,
employed the most prominent physicians, and anticipated his every
want--all this and more the letter told.

And the very next steamboat from the lower country, the great heavy
Duke of Orleans, with a green half moon of lattice work in each paddle
box, brought the convalescent Henry and his friend. Both were invited
to supper at the house of Priscilla's mother on the evening after their
arrival. Neither of them liked to face Priscilla's decision, whatever
it might be, but they were more than ever resolved that it should not
in any way disturb their friendship. So they walked together to the
cottage.

Priscilla's mother was not well enough to come to the table, and she
had to entertain both. It was hard for either of the guests to be
cheerful, but Priscilla at least was not depressed by the approaching
decision. Equally attentive to both, no one could have guessed in which
direction her preference lay.

"We must enjoy this supper," she said. "We must celebrate Henry's
recovery and the goodness of his nurse together. Let's put the future
out of sight and be happy."

Her gayety proved infectious, and as she served her friends with her
own hands they both abandoned themselves to the pleasure of the moment
and talked of cheerful and amusing things.

Only wh