“On the last day of May.”

“Whe-ew!  Then there was ample time in which to have written the news to me.  And I have had at least half a dozen business letters since the date of his marriage, in any of which he might have mentioned the occurrence had he so chosen.  The lady is no longer young.  She must be forty-eight, and she is handsome, cultured, dignified and of very high rank.  A queenly woman!”

“Do you know whom you are talking about, Fabian?”

“Mrs. Bloomingfield, the lady I recommended, whom father married.”

“Oh, indeed; I thought you didn’t know what you were talking about or whom you were talking of,” said Mr. Clarence.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Our father never accepted your recommendation; never proposed to the handsome, high spirited Mrs. Bloomingfield.”

“What!” exclaimed Mr. Fabian.  “Whom, then?” “Whom?  Whom should he have selected but

    “‘The Rose that all ad-mi-r-r-?’

“Clarence, what, in the fiend’s name, do you mean?  Whom has my father married?” demanded Mr. Fabian, starting up and staring at his younger brother.

“Mrs. Rose Flowers Stillwater,” replied Mr. Clarence, staring back.

Mr. Fabian dropped back in his chair, while every vestige of color left his face.

“Why, Fabian!  Fabian!  Why should you care so much as all this?  Speak, Fabian; what is the matter?” inquired the younger brother, rising and bending over the elder.

“What is the matter?” cried Mr. Fabian, excitedly.  “Ruin is the matter!  Ruin, disgrace, dishonor, degradation, an abyss of infamy; that is the matter.”

“Oh, come now! see here! that is all wild talk.  The young woman was only a nursery governess, to be sure, in our house, and then widow of some skipper or other; but she was respectable, though of humble position.”

“Clarence, hush!  You know nothing about it!” exclaimed Mr. Fabian, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief, and then getting up and walking the floor with rapid strides.

“I don’t understand all this, Fabian.  We were all of us a good deal cut up by the event, but nothing like this!” said Mr. Clarence, uneasily.

“No; you don’t understand.  But listen to me:  I was on my way to Rockhold to join in the family reunion, and to show the old homestead to my wife; but I cannot take her there now.  I cannot introduce her to the new Mrs. Rockharrt—­the new Mrs. Rockharrt!” he repeated, in a tone and with a gesture of disgust and abhorrence.  “I shall turn back, and take my wife to our new home; and when I go to Rockhold, I shall go alone.”

“Fabian, you make me dreadfully uneasy.  What do you know of Rose Stillwater that is to her discredit?” demanded Clarence Rockharrt.

His elder brother paused in his excited walk, dropped his head upon his chest and reflected for a few moments.  Then he seemed to recover some degree of self-control and self-recollection.  He returned to his chair, sat down, and said: