LITMIR.BIZ

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delicate kindness, by attention to every wish and whim, by glances full of admiration and tenderness, both showed the power which her beauty and goodness exerted. And, truly, she was worthy of the homage. The younger men who saw her were set aflame at once, or sighed afar in despair; while the elderly felt an unaccountable desire to pat her golden head, pinch her softly-rounded cheek, and call her such pet-names as their fatherly character and gray hair allowed.

      Fate had not yet done its worst; there were other troubles in store for the orphan. She knew little of her kinsman's circumstances, but supposed him to be at least beyond the reach of want. But not many days passed before the failure of Sandford deprived him of his little patrimony, and the suspension of Mr. Lindsay left him without employment. That evening, when Walter came home, she unwillingly heard the conversation between him and his mother in an adjoining room; and then she knew that her kind friends were destitute. Her resolution was at once formed. With as cheerful an air as she could assume, she took her place at the tea-table, and in the conversation afterwards strove to hide her desolate heart-sickness. On going to her room, she packed her simple wardrobe, not without many tears, and then, with only indifferent success, tried to compose her scattered senses in sleep.

      Next morning she strove to appear calm and cheerful, but a close scrutiny might have detected the effort,—a deeper sorrow, perhaps, about the heavy eyelids, and certainly a firmer pressure of the sometimes tremulous lips. But Walter was too much occupied with the conflict of his own feelings to observe her closely. While his mother was engaged in her housewifely duties, he took Alice's hand, and for the first time spoke of his losses, but expressed himself confident of obtaining a new situation, and begged her to dismiss any apprehensions from her mind. She turned her face that he might not see the springing tears. He went on:—

      "The sharpest pang I feel, Alice, is in the thought, that, with the loss of my little fortune, and with my present gloomy prospects, I cannot say to you what I would,—I cannot tell you what is nearest my heart. Since you came here, our sombre house has grown bright. As I have looked at you, I have dared to promise myself a happiness which before I had never conceived possible."

      He hesitated.

      "Don't, dear Walter! I beg of you, don't venture upon that subject!"

      "Why? is it painful to you?"

      "Inexpressibly! You are generous and good. I love and honor you as my cousin, my friend, my protector. Do not think of a nearer relationship."

      Walter stood irresolute.

      "Some other time, dear Alice," he faltered out. "I don't wish to pain you, and I have no courage to-day."

      "Let me be frank, Cousin Walter. Under other circumstances, I would not anticipate the words I saw trembling on your lips. But even if the memory of my poor father were not so fresh, I could not hear you." She hid her face as she went on. "I have received a wound from the faithlessness of one lover which never will heal. I could not repay your love. I have no heart to give you."

      Thus far she had controlled her feelings, when, kissing his hand with sudden fervor, she burst into tears, and hastily left the room.

      She waited till Walter went out; then she wrote a brief note and placed it on the library-table at his favorite corner, and, after bidding Mrs. Monroe good morning, went out as though for a walk. Frequently she looked back with tearful eyes at the home she felt constrained to leave; but gathering her strength, she turned away and plunged into the current that set down Washington Street.

      Brave Heart! alone in a great city, whose people were too much engrossed with their own distresses and apprehensions to give heed to the sufferings of others! Alone among strangers, she must seek a home and the means of support. Who would receive an unknown, friendless girl? Who, in the terrible palsy of trade, would furnish her employment?

      CHAPTER XXIII

      There was naturally great surprise when Walter Monroe returned home to dinner and Alice was found to be missing. It was evident that it was not an accidental detention, for her trunk had been sent for an hour previous, and the messenger either could not or would not give any information as to her whereabouts. Mrs. Monroe was excessively agitated,—her faculties lost in a maze, like one beholding an accident without power of thought or motion. To Walter it was a heavy blow; he feared that his own advances had been the occasion of her leaving the house, and he reproached himself bitterly for his headlong folly. Their dinner was a sad and cheerless meal; the mother feeling all a woman's solicitude for a friendless girl; the son filled with a tumult of sorrow, remorse, love, and pity.

      "Poor Alice!" said Mrs. Monroe; "perhaps she has found no home."

      "Don't, mother! The thought of her in the streets, or among suspicious strangers, or vulgar people, is dreadful. We must leave no means untried to find her. Did she leave no word, no note?"

      "No,—none that I know of."

      "Have you looked?"

      She shook her head. Walter left his untasted food, and hastily looked in the hall, then in the parlor, and at last in the library. There was the note in her own delicate hand.

      "DEAR WALTER,—

      "Don't be offended. I cannot eat the bread of idleness now that your fortune is gone and your salary stopped. If I need your assistance, you will hear from me. Comfort your mother, and believe that I shall be happier earning my own living. We shall meet in better times. God bless you both for your kindness to one who had no claim upon you!

      "ALICE."

      "The dear creature!" said Mrs. Monroe, taking the note and kissing it.

      "Why did you let her trunk go, mother? You might have detained the man who came for it, and sent for me. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth."

      "I don't know, my son. I was confused. I hardly knew what happened. I shook so that I sat down, and Bridget must have got it."

      Tears ran down her cheeks, and her hands trembled so that her fork dropped.

      "Never mind, dear mother. Pray, be calm. I did not wish to disturb you."

      There was a ring at the door. A gentleman wished to see Mr. Monroe. Rising from the table, he went into the parlor.

      "Mr. Monroe," began the stranger, in an agitated manner, "do you know anything of a young lady named Lee,—Alice Lee?"

      "Yes," replied Monroe, with equal excitement, "I know her well. What of her? Where is she? Have you found her?"

      "Found her?" said the other, with surprise. "Is she not here?"

      "No,—she left this morning."

      "And left no word where she was going?"

      "None."

      "Let me beg of you not to trifle with me. Did she not hear my voice, my step, and attempt to excuse herself through you?"

      "Sir!" exclaimed Walter.

      "I beg pardon. I have been in search of her for two days. I could not believe she had eluded me just at the last. I do not wish to doubt your word."

      "And who may you be, Sir, to take such an interest in the lady?"

      "I can satisfy you fully. My name is Greenleaf."

      "The painter?"

      "Yes. You must have heard her speak of me."

      "Never, to my recollection."

      "Have you known her long?"

      "She is my cousin. It is only recently that she came here, and her acquaintances of a year ago might naturally have been passed over."

      "You seem surprised at her leaving you so abruptly. You will join me in making search for her?"

      "I shall search for her, myself, as long as there is hope."

      "Let me confess," said Greenleaf, "that I have the strongest reasons for my haste. She is betrothed to me."

      "Since you have honored me with your confidence, I will return it, so far as to tell you what I heard from her this morning. I think I can remember the precise words:—'I have received a wound from

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