“Impossible!” rejoined he, with an air of astonishment.

“Impossible!—­why so?  I assure you he is.  They are to be married in a few weeks.  I am here to officiate as bridesmaid.”

“Phew!” whistled George Stevens; and then, after pausing a moment, he asked, “Do you know anything about this Mr. Garie—­anything, I mean, respecting his family?”

“Why, no—­that is, nothing very definite, more than that he is an orphan, and a gentleman of education and independent means.”

“Humph!” ejaculated George Stevens, significantly.

“Humph!” repeated Miss Ellstowe, “what do you mean?  Do you know anything beyond that?  One might suppose you did, from your significant looks and gestures.”

“Yes, I do know something about this Mr. Garie,” he replied, after a short silence.  “But tell me what kind of people are these you are visiting—­Abolitionists, or anything of that sort?”

“How absurd, Mr. Stevens, to ask such a question; of course they are not,” said she, indignantly; “do you suppose I should be here if they were?  But why do you ask—­is this Mr. Garie one?”

“No, my friend,” answered her visitor; “I wish that was all.”

“That was all!—­how strangely you talk—­you alarm me,” continued she, with considerable agitation.  “If you know anything that will injure the happiness of my friend—­anything respecting Mr. Garie that she or her father should know—­make no secret of it, but disclose it to me at once.  Anne is my dearest friend, and I, of course, must be interested in anything that concerns her happiness.  Tell me, what is it you know?”

“It is nothing, I assure you, that it will give me any pleasure to tell,” answered he.  “Do speak out, Mr. Stevens.  Is there any stain on his character, or that of his family?  Did he ever do anything dishonourable?”

“I wish that was all,” coolly repeated George Stevens.  “I am afraid he is a villain, and has been imposing himself upon this family for what he is not.”

“Good Heavens!  Mr. Stevens, how is he a villain or impostor?”

“You all suppose him to be a white man, do you not?” he asked.

“Of course we do,” she promptly answered.

“Then you are all grievously mistaken, for he is not.  Did you not notice how he changed colour, how agitated he became, when I was presented?  It was because he knew that his exposure was at hand.  I know him well—­in fact, he is the illegitimate son of a deceased relative of mine, by a mulatto slave.”

“It cannot be possible,” exclaimed Miss Ellstowe, with a wild stare of astonishment.  “Are you sure of it?”

“Sure of it! of course I am.  I should indeed be a rash man to make such a terrible charge unless perfectly able to substantiate it.  I have played with him frequently when a child, and my father made a very liberal provision for this young man and his sister, after the death of their father, who lost his life through imprudently living with this woman in Philadelphia, and consequently getting himself mixed up with these detestable Abolitionists.”