She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. Celeste he knew. Drummond,” he continued, looking across at his vis-à-vis, “we look to you to give expression to our sentiments. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. ” The conversation hung for a moment. After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard.
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