“And would you then have loved me?” asked Julia, “me whom few have ever loved, because they did not know me; say, would you have loved me as a sister?”

The face of her who awaited Dr. Lacey’s answer was very beautiful, while tears moistened the long eyelashes, which veiled the large, bright eyes, and the tones of her voice, now more like Fanny’s than ever, thrilled his every nerve.  What wonder, then, that his lips for the first time touched the polished brow of the tempter, as he said, “It would be no hard task, Julia, to love you with more than a brother’s love.”

“One more well-aimed blow,” thought Julia, “and I shall have him at my feet”; but she was mistaken.  Between herself and Dr. Lacey there arose the image of one, the remembrance of whom had a power to prevent the utterance of words which otherwise might have been spoken.

Abruptly changing the conversation, he drew her rather reluctantly toward the house, which they reached just in time to hear Florence exclaim, as she scattered the chessmen over the floor, “Why, Uncle Billy Middleton, what do you mean?  Put yourself up to be played for, and then beat me; shame, shame.”

“What is this all about?” asked Dr. Lacey, having some inkling of the truth.

“Why,” answered Florence, “you see, Mr. Middleton has conceived a fatherly affection for me, and as he is rather rusty in such matters, he could think of no better way of proposing than to put himself up as a prize, and tell me if I beat him in playing chess, he would be mine, or in other words, make me Mrs. Billy Middleton.”

“And who beat?” asked Julia.

“Why, Mr. Middleton was ill-mannered enough to win,” said Florence, “but then, it was such fun to see how desperately he played, for fear I should get him!  Now, Dr. Lacey, I suppose you have been proposing to Julia in the real old, orthodox way, but that is too common.  You must sit down at the chessboard and let Julia play for you,” and she pushed them both toward the chairs, which she and Mr. Middleton had just vacated.

Julia did not refuse, but Dr. Lacey, freeing himself from Florence, said, “Excuse me tonight, Miss Woodburn.  Perhaps at some other time I will comply with your request,” then bowing, he left the veranda and went to his own room.

When there he strove to recall the events of the evening, and the words he had involuntarily spoken to Julia.  “Why is it,” said he, “that I feel so uneasy whenever I am alone with her?  Is it that I love her and am afraid I shall tell her so?  No, that cannot be.  I do not love her; and yet, next to Fanny, she is more agreeable to me than any one else.”

Memories of other days came thronging about him, and he then resolved again to write and beseech Fanny at least to grant him her second love, even if her first, best affections had been given to another.

“Suppose she refuses you,” seemed whispered in his ear.

It must have been some evil spirit which prompted the reply, “Then I will marry Julia, as being next and nearest to Fanny.”  His resolution once taken, he proceeded to carry it into effect.  The letter was written and over Dr. Lacey came a sense of relief—­a feeling that he had escaped from something, he knew not what.  But she, who was upon his track, was more wily, more crafty than anything he had ever imagined.