The Boston family were at breakfast. William was in his place next to his wife, and his uncle, who now lived in the house, sat opposite him. The two men were talking of stocks, bonds, securities, and insurance rates. Celeste was taking no part in the conversation. In her morning dress she looked as frail and dainty as ever.

Presently the maid who was waiting at the table bent over her shoulder and, smiling, whispered something to her.

"Oh, is he!" Celeste exclaimed. "Tell him to wait. I want to see him after breakfast."

"Who is it, dear?" William asked.

"It is Michael," she returned. "He has got back from New York. I want to find out how his mother is. He has been away longer than usual. I am afraid she may be worse."

Raising his coffee-cup to his lips, William dismissed the subject and continued his chat with his uncle.

"We certainly have made the bank pay," the older man said. "As you know, it was not in the best condition when I took hold of it. I had no idea running a bank was so interesting. I have handled my end well and you have yours. I have heartily enjoyed my work, but sometimes I am in doubt about you."

"About me?" William\'s eyes met the upward glance of his wife, and both looked at the old man inquiringly.

"Yes. You always seem nervous, overworked, and worried. I\'ve tried to make it out. Are you sure you are entirely well? You are getting gray, my boy, and your signature often has a shaky look. You don\'t smoke too much, do you?"

"I think not," said William, and his eyes fell under the calm, penetrating stare of his wife. "But I am nervous, and seem to be getting more so. I am thinking of a vacation."

"That is right, take it," his uncle said. "I can run the old boat awhile by myself."

Celeste remained at the table after they had left the room. She listened attentively and heard them closing the door as they went out into the street. No sooner were they away than she rang for the maid.

"Please tell Michael that I want to see him," she said to the girl. "He is still there, is he not?"

"Yes, madam."

In a moment Michael appeared, his hat in hand.

"When did you get back?" Celeste asked, after she had greeted him and he stood at the end of the table, the dust of travel on his gray suit and in the hollows of his earnest blue eyes.

"At four o\'clock this morning, madam; I\'m pretty well done up."

"How did you leave your mother?" asked Celeste, and her eyes swept him from head to foot. It was plain to the servant that her questions were merely perfunctory.

"Very well, thank you, madam. It is very kind of you to ask."

"I am glad to hear it, Michael." Celeste faced him more directly now. "I was afraid she was worse, for you know you were gone longer than usual."

"A few days longer, madam," Michael said. "I had no idea of being detained, but I actually ran across a trace of Mr. Charles, and, knowing your anxiety, I—"

"You have found him—you have seen him!" Celeste interrupted. "I know it from the way you look, Michael."

"Yes, madam, I found him. After some trouble and quite a journey I located him and managed to meet and talk with him."

"Sit down, Michael, sit down; you are tired."

He drew a chair back from the table and sat in it, his travel-stained hat on his knee.

"Now tell me about him. Is he well?"

"A perfect picture of health, madam," Michael beamed. "He is living on an old plantation down in the mountains of Georgia, working like a common laborer, but he seemed satisfied."

"Like a common laborer!" Celeste repeated, sadly. "Go on, tell me everything, Michael."

At some length the old servant recounted his experiences from the moment of his meeting with Mason in New York till he had joined Charles in the South.

"And the girl you speak of—the planter\'s daughter. You say she is—"

"The most beautiful and refined young lady I ever met, madam. I cannot tell you how well she impressed me. You could see by a look at her that she was of fine stock. She was very nice to me. I saw her father, too, but I did not meet him—a fine figure of a gentleman. A little run down in appearance, madam, but a courtly gentleman at bottom. The house was a fine old place. You could not blame a young man like Mr. Charles for wanting to settle there, after all the roving he had had to get away from—You understand what I mean, madam?"

Celeste nodded breathlessly. "You must tell me, Michael," she urged, "if, in your opinion, Charles is in love with the young lady."

Michael hesitated; he fumbled the rim of his hat; he blinked under her steady stare.

"Answer me, Michael," Celeste insisted. "Surely he would not object to my knowing it if he is. You see, I am anxious to hear that he has found such happiness."

"I may as well tell you that he made no secret of it, madam, but I regret to say that it has not brought him full contentment."

"Then she cares for some one else," Celeste said, regretfully.

"On the contrary, madam, I am sure that the feeling is mutual. I could see it in the way she looked at him, and in the way she treated me merely because I was a friend of his, as he told her in my presence."............