her's family; but the wrong construction which was
put upon her motives annoyed him, and even made him fearful that her heart
might be more interested in Mr. Wilmot than he was willing to believe. As
he stood by the open grave into which the cold earth was heavily falling,
there rested upon his brow a deeper shade of sadness than was occasioned
by the mere death of his friend. Mrs. Carrington observed it, and resolved
to follow up the train of thought which she saw was awakened in his mind.

After the burial Kate returned to Mrs. Crane's, where she was treated with
every possible attention which politeness or sympathy could dictate. A few
days after the funeral she one evening casually asked, if that fair,
delicate-looking girl at her brother's grave were not Miss Middleton?

"Yes," replied Mrs. Carrington. "Did you not think from her manner that
she was a sincere mourner?"

Kate was about to reply, when Dr. Lacey prevented her by saying, "Pardon
me, Mrs. Carrington; but I think you have given Miss Wilmot a wrong
impression. She doubtless thinks it was Miss Julia Middleton."

"Yes," said Kate, "I thought it was Miss Julia."

Dr. Lacey replied that it was Fanny--Julia's younger sister; and then he
told how faithfully she had watched over Mr. Wilmot during his illness. Of
Julia he said nothing, and although Kate wished very much to know
something concerning her, she determined not to question Dr. Lacey, but to
wait and ask Mr. Miller, who, for some reason, seemed nearer to her than
any other one of the strangers by whom she was surrounded. He had been
solicited to take charge of the school, which was now destitute of a
teacher, and as the situation pleased him, he readily accepted the offer
and accepted Mrs. Crane's as his boarding place. Perhaps one inducement
which led him to do this was the presence of the beautiful Kate, in whom
he daily became more interested.

Years before, when but a boy in the boarding school at Canandaigua, he had
often fancied that the time would come when he should both see and know
the sister whom Richard Wilmot used to describe in such glowing terms.
Since then another image had filled his heart and he had dreamed of
another face--not so fair, perhaps, but quite as innocent. But now the
dream was sadly over, and he had never thought of the gentle Fanny for a
wife since that night when, as he supposed, he saw the dark side of her
character. He, however, could not conquer his old partiality