flute notes, silvery sweet, were raining down upon her. She awoke to discover day was breaking, and a pealing of bells from some distant church tower was announcing the fact.

She gathered her babe to her throbbing heart and thought, to-day she was to go out and meet her husband’s people. How should she go? How should she conduct herself? Should she go at once, or wait until the afternoon? Why had she not written her name fully in the travellers’ book? What mysterious foreboding had caught her fingers and stayed them at her maiden name? Was she afraid? When she arose, she found herself trembling from head to foot, and called for her breakfast, before bathing and dressing her little son.

The same pretty maid brought it, and came again, while Cassandra bathed and nursed her baby, to set the room to rights.