THE late days in ]une that followed were hot and sultry. Over the land hung a drowsy, enervating sheen, scorching meadows and withering leaves. Flags hung motionless above military fortifi- cations and stores. On streets and roadways, wagons and carts lumbered heavily behind wet-flanked horses.

Miss Catherine, with two bulging portmanteaux and a joyous spirit, was back from her visit in Albany and had much to tell of what she had seen and heard while a guest of the Carletons. Her father and mother, sitting beneath a large oak tree, whose branches stretched to the house, listened attentively as she described Fort Orange, overlooking the stately Hudson, the old stockades, the cannon with their muzzles protruding from embrasures, the quaint Dutch dwellings with their gable ends to the street, the manorial houses of the patroons, the Legislative building and the sweeping windmills scattered over country places.

Frequently to her mind had come another subject, but she did not mention it—not till the next day, when alone with her mother. Then she told of seeing the house where the Warwicks once lived. Mrs. Cavenleigh listened, but Without comment. I

That same afternoon, Mr. Robert Thorne walked out of his office to the table where Leighton sat absorbed in law books. Mr. Warwick,” he said, take this packet to Mr. Richard Cavenleigh—-at once.”

Leighton was startled. Yes, sir. Had I better finish this extract?

I said, sir, at once.”

Oh, very well, sir, and shall I wait for an answer?

Mr. Thorne paused. Your business is with Mr. Cavenleigh. Miss Catherine will excuse a young gentleman, when he is on pro- fessional errands.”

Leighton was left in a cold perspiration. He couldn't compre- hend what Mr. Thorne meant. Why should he make such a