aid Ephraim, evidently surprised himself.
"Why, I thought you had known it long ago. Of course I must have
puzzled you! I see, now."

"I never heard a word about it," I said, feeling as though I must be
dreaming, and should awake by-and-by. "I always thought--"

"You always thought what?"

"I thought you cared for Annas," I forced my lips to say.

"You thought I cared for Miss Keith?" Ephraim's tone was a stronger
negative than any words could have been. "Yes, I cared for her as your
friend, and as a woman in trouble, and a woman of fine character: but if
you fancied I wished to make her my wife, you were never more mistaken.
No, Cary; I fixed on somebody else for that, a long while ago--before I
ever saw Miss Keith. May I tell you her name?"

Then we were right at first, and it was Fanny. I said, "Yes," as well
as I could.

"Cary, I never loved, and never shall love, any one but you."

I cannot tell you, little book, either what I said, or exactly what
happened after that. I only know that the moaning wind outside chanted
a triumphal march, and the dying embers on my hearthstone sprang up into
a brilliant illumination, and I did not care a straw for all the battles
that ever were fought, and envied neither Annas Keith nor anybody else.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, Hatty! I did not think you were going to be the old maid of the
family!" said my Aunt Kezia.

"I did not, either, once," was Hatty's answer, in a low tone, but not a
sad one. "Perhaps I was the best one for it, Aunt. At any rate, you
and Father will always have one girl to care for you."

We did not see Flora till the next morning. I knew that my Uncle
Drummond's letter must be that in which he answered the news of Angus's
escape, and I did not wonder if it unnerved her. She let me read it
afterwards. The Laird and Lady Monksburn had plainly given up their son
for ever when they heard what he had done. And knowing what I knew, I
felt it was best so. I had to tell Flora my news:--to see the light die
suddenly out of her dear brown velvet eyes,--will it ever come back
again? And I wondered, watching her by the light of my own new-born
happiness, whether Duncan Keith were as little to her as I had supposed.

I knew, somewhat later, that I had misunderstood her, that we had
misinterpreted her. Her one wish seemed to be to get back home. And
Father said he would take her himself a