"Yes, poor child! Love her and trust her with your whole heart, Reginald, for she is worthy."
Reginald Stanford went out, still bewildered by all he had heard, and returned to the drawing-room. Kate sat as he had left her, looking dreamily out at the bright sky.
"My dearest," he said bending over her, and touching the white brow: "can you ever forgive me for doubting you? You are the truest, the best, the bravest of women."
She lifted her loving eyes, filled with tears, to the handsome face of her betrothed.
"To those I love I hope I am—and more. Before I grow false or treacherous, I pray Heaven that I may die."
CHAPTER XII.
HARRY DANTON.
A spring-like afternoon. The March sun bright in the Canadian sky, the wind soft and genial, and a silvery mist hanging over the river and marshes. Little floods from the fast-melting snow poured through the grounds; the ice-frozen fish-pond was thawing out under the melting influence of the sunshine, and rubber shoes and tucked-up skirts were indispensable outdoor necessaries.
Rose Danton, rubber-shoes, tucked-up skirts, and all, was trying to kill time this pleasant afternoon, sauntering aimlessly through the wet grounds. Very pretty and coquettish she looked, with that crimson petticoat showing under her dark silk dress; that jockey-hat and feather set jauntily on her sunshiny curls; but her prettiness was only vanity and vexation of spirit to Rose. Where was the good of pink-tinted cheeks, soft hazel eyes, auburn curls, and a trim little foot and ankle, when there was no living thing near to see and admire? What was the use of dressing beautifully and looking charming for a pack of insensible mortals, to whom it was an old story and not worth thinking about? The sunny March day had no reflection in Rose's face; "sulky" is the only word that will tell you how she looked. Poor Rose! It was rather hard to be hopelessly in love, to be getting worse every day, and find it all of no use. It was a little too bad to have everything she wanted for eighteen years, and then be denied the fascinating young officer she had set her whole heart on. For Mr. Stanford was lost again. Just as she thought she had her bird snared for certain—lo! it spread its dazzling wings and soared up to the clouds, and farther out of reach than ever. In plain English, he had gone back to the old love and was off with the new, just when she felt most sure of him.