THE NEXT DAY.
Keith awoke the next morning with a strange feeling of peace and quiet in his heart—a sensation as though he had anchored at last, and all his life would henceforth lie through pleasant ways.
"My little wife!" he murmured, fondly. "I shall go to Uncle Bernard this morning and tell him of the step I have taken. I shall break the news of my marriage to him at once and have it all over. Surely he can not in his heart object, since that was once his dearest wish—his pet scheme. I wonder why he changed his mind in regard to the projected marriage between Beatrix and myself," the young man went on thoughtfully as he performed his toilet. "It is a mystery to me. Yet Uncle Bernard is very eccentric, and I need not be surprised at anything that he may do or say. Oh! how happy we shall be—my darling and I! And if Uncle Bernard is really displeased, I will take her away, and we will find some pretty little cottage down-town, and I will get a position somewhere and work for my darling—my little wife!"
As the last words passed his lips his eyes fell upon an object, the sight of which made him frown. He was standing near the window, and the object which had attracted his attention was Serena Lynne walking in the grounds outside. She was dressed in black—all in deep black—and her face was very pale, and wore upon it a look which Keith Kenyon had never seen there before.
"I wonder when those women are going to leave?" he exclaimed, half aloud. "I am tired of the sight of them, and Serena is a bitter enemy of my darling; I feel sure of that. Dear little Beatrix, how can any one dislike her? She is the sweetest-tempered, gentlest little girl in the whole round world!"
At breakfast he looked anxiously for Beatrix; but there was no sign of her; she did not make her appearance. Old Bernard Dane looked uneasy. He rang the bell, and Mrs. Graves appeared.
"Send to Miss Dane's room," he commanded, "and see if she is ill, or why she does not come to breakfast. Beatrix is an early riser," he added, glancing at Keith.
"A very good trait," observed that young man, promptly.
"Oh, yes, to be sure," intervened Serena, with a sneer in her voice which she could not repress to save her life. "Everything Beatrix does is perfection. She has not a single fault!"
"Very true," responded Keith, gravely, looking the irate lady directly in the face. "She certainly has never been guilty of sneering over the absent or traducing people behind their backs!"