airie Avenue,
waving his hand and shouting to him. He reined in his spirited bays with
some difficulty, and Hayne finally caught up with them.

"What is it, Hayne?" asked Waldron, with kindly interest, leaning out of
his carriage.

"They will be back to-night, sir. Here is a telegram that has just
reached me."

"I can't tell you how sorry I am not to be here to welcome them; but
Mrs. Waldron will be delighted, and she will come to call the moment you
let her know. Keep them till I get back, if you possibly can."

"Ay, ay, sir. Good-by."

"Good-by, Hayne. God bless you, and--good luck!"

A little later that afternoon Mrs. Rayner had occasion to go into her
sister's room. It was almost sunset, and Nellie had been summoned
down-stairs to see visitors. Both the ladies were busy with their
packing,--Mrs. Rayner, as became an invalid, superintending, and Miss
Travers, as became the junior, doing all the work. It was rather trying
to pack all the trunks and receive visitors of both sexes at odd hours.
Some of her garrison acquaintances would have been glad to come and
help, but those whom she would have welcomed were not agreeable to the
lady of the house, and those the lady of the house would have chosen
were not agreeable to her. The relations between the sisters were
somewhat strained and unnatural, and had been growing more and more so
for several days past. Mrs. Rayner's desk was already packed away. She
wanted to send a note, and bethought her of her sister's portfolio.
Opening it, she drew out some paper and envelopes, and with the latter
came an envelope sealed and directed. One glance at its superscription
sent the blood to her cheek and fire to her eye. Was it possible? Was it
credible? Her pet, her baby sister, her pride and delight,--until she
found her stronger in will,--her proud-spirited, truthful Nell, was
beyond question corresponding with Lieutenant Hayne! Here was a note
addressed to him. How many more might not have been exchanged?
Ruthlessly now she explored the desk, searching for something from him,
but her scrutiny was vain. Oh, what could she say, what could she do, to
convey to her erring sister an adequate sense of the extent of her
displeasure? How could she bring her to realize the shame, the guilt,
the scandal, of her course? She, Nellie Travers, the betrothed wife of
Steven Van Antwerp, corresponding secretly with this--this scoundrel,
whose past, crime-laden as it had been, was as nothing