"Doctor Frank goes to Montreal this afternoon. If you are ready, you might go with him."
"Yes, papa; I'll be ready."
Rose set to work packing at once, declining all assistance. She filled her trunk with all her favourite dresses; stowed away all her jewellery—taking a very unnecessary amount of luggage, one would think, for a week's visit.
Every one was surprised, at luncheon, when Rose's departure was announced. None more so than Mr. Stanford.
"It is just like Rose!" exclaimed Eeny; "she is everything by starts, and nothing long. Flying off to Quebec for a week, just as she is going to be married, with half her dresses unmade. It's absurd."
The afternoon train for Montreal passed through St. Croix at three o'clock. Kate and Reginald drove to the station with her, and saw her safely seated beside Doctor Frank. Her veil of drab gauze was down over her face, flushed and excited; and she kissed her sister good-bye without lifting it. Reginald Stanford shook hands with her—a long, warm, lingering clasp—and flashed a bright, electric glance that thrilled to her inmost heart. An instant later, and the train was in motion, and Rose was gone.
The morning of the third day after brought a note from Quebec. Rose had arrived safely, and the Leblanc family were delighted to see her. That was all.
That evening, Mr. Stanford made the announcement that he was to depart for Montreal next morning. It was to Kate, of course. She had strolled down to the gate to meet him, in the red light of the sunset, as he came home from a day's gunning. He had taken, of late, to being absent a great deal, fishing and shooting; and those last three days he had been away from breakfast until dinner.
"Going to Montreal?" repeated Kate. "What for?"
"To see a friend of mine—Major Forsyth. He has come over lately, with his wife, and I have just heard of it. Besides, I have a few purchases to make."