Kathleen sat down in front of a bright coal fire, and leaned her curly head back against the easy-chair. In doing so, her upraised eyes encountered over the mantel the picture of a young girl done in water colors. It was a life-size head and bust, and represented a beautiful young creature with rosy cheeks, pouting lips, dark-blue eyes, and curly golden hair. The expression of the face was piquant and spirited, and greatly resembled Kathleen's own.
Kathleen gazed with startled eyes at this beautiful picture, and gasped, faintly:
"Who is it?"
She was alone with Chester, and as he looked up she saw a shadow of pain cloud his dark-blue eyes.
Drawing his chair close to hers, he half-whispered:
"She was my cousin. She has been dead many years."
"Her name?" exclaimed Kathleen, excitedly, and he lifted a warning hand.
"Not so loud. Grandma might hear," he said; then, answering the puzzled look in her eyes, he added, softly:
"It was grandma's youngest child—her only daughter, and she met such a tragic fate that it nearly broke her mother's heart. Even now she can not bear to talk of her. We never speak her name, because it makes our hearts ache."