CHAPTER XI.
ONE MYSTERY CLEARED UP.
The fire burned low in Rose's pretty room, and the lamp was dim on the table.

The window-curtains were closed, and the sheets of the little low, white bed turned down, the easy chair was before the hearth, and everything was the picture of comfort.

She flung off her wrappings on the carpet, and sat down in the easy chair, and looked into the glowing cinders, lost in perplexed thought.
What would be the result of that night's adventure?
Reginald Stanford, good-natured and nonchalant, was yet proud.

She had seen his face change in the starlight, as once she had hardly thought it possible that ever-laughing face could change; she had seen it cold and fixed as stone.

How would he act towards a lady, plighted to be his wife, and yet who took midnight rambles with another man?
Would the engagement be broken off, and would he leave Canada forever in disgust?
Or would he, forsaking Kate, turn to Kate's younger sister for love and consolation?
Rose's heart throbbed, and her face grew hot in the solitude of her chamber, at the thought.