Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. "He sails to-morrow morning in the very vessel by which I start," replied Jack. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. He said nothing. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. "Mr.
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