d man's daughter; and could Mr. Middleton
have witnessed her reception of his Sunshine, he would have been
satisfied.

A messenger was dispatched for Mr. Wilmot, who was superintending some
workmen in a field not far from the house. Mr. Wilmot was a tall,
noble-looking man, whose fine figure was slightly bowed by the frosts of
sixty winters. As he advanced with breathless haste toward the house, Kate
ran to meet him, and the tears which the strong man wept, told how dear to
him was this, his beautiful daughter, and how forcibly her presence
reminded him of his first-born, only son, who went away to die among
strangers.

When he was presented to Mr. Miller and Fanny, a scene similar to the one
we have already described took place. As he blessed Fanny for Richard's
sake, she felt that though in a strange land, she was not alone or
unloved. Her homesickness soon vanished; for how could she be lonely and
sad, where all were so kind, and where each seemed to vie with the other
in trying to make everything agreeable to her. It was strange how soon
even Hector learned to love the fair Kentuckian. He would follow her
footsteps wherever she went, and affectionately kiss her hands. But then,
as Kate said, "Hector had more common sense than half the people in the
world," and he seemed to know by instinct that she whom he so fondly
caressed had once watched over his young master, who was now sleeping in
his silent grave, unmindful that in his home he was still sincerely
mourned even by old Hector.

Not many days after Fanny's arrival at Mr. Wilmot's she was told that a
gentleman wished to see her in the parlor. On entering the room how
surprised she was at beholding Frank Cameron. He had learned by letter
from Kate that Fanny was in C----, and he immediately started for his
uncle's.

Since his return from Kentucky he had thoughts of little else save Fanny
Middleton. Waking or sleeping, she was constantly in his mind, and still
with a happy thought of her there ever came a sadder feeling, a fear that
his love for her would be in vain. But since the morning when he bade her
adieu, her name had never once passed his lips.

When his sister Gertrude questioned him concerning the Kentucky girls, he
had described to her in glowing terms the extreme beauty of Julia, and the
handsome eyes of "the widder," as he called Mrs. Carrington, but of Fanny
he had never spoken. He could not bear that even his own sister should
mention Fanny in