She was to encounter a scene she little expected. Soon she was in the
vicinity of the cool bower where August and his mother had retired for
friendly chat.
"Don't speak that way, Andrew; it hurts me."
It was the voice of a woman, and involuntarily the steps of Rose Alstine
halted. Could that be her lover's mother thus addressing her son? The
girl was too deeply excited to notice that the name uttered was not that
of her lover.
Moving on, Rose soon stood where she could gaze into the summer-house.
Then she came to a halt. It was a picture that poor Rose never forgot--
that presented to her at that moment.
She saw two persons in the little leaf-embowered room--a man and young
woman.
The latter stood with hand clasped about the neck of the young man, who
was handsome in the extreme. Was there a handsomer man in Grandon than
August Bordine?
Rose did not believe it, and there he stood with that woman's arms
about his neck, her pale face upturned to his, the light of a pleading,
all-enduring love in her dark eyes.
It was a love scene in every sense of the word.
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