Adah brought me up my dinner, and I at once noted that she was in a flutter of unusual excitement. Her mother had undoubtedly prepared her for the arrival of the expected guest, and made known also his relations to one of whom she had been somewhat jealous, and it would seem that the simple-hearted girl could not disguise her elation.

I was in too bitter a mood to endure a word, and yet did not wish to hurt her feelings; therefore she found me more absorbed in my paper and preoccupied than ever before.

"Thank you, Miss Adah," I said, cordially but briefly. "Editors are wretched company; their paper is everything to them, and I've something on my mind just now that's very absorbing."

"Thee isn't strong enough to work yet," she said sympathetically.

"Oh, yes," I replied, laughing bitterly; "I'm a small edition of Samson. Besides, I'm as poor as Job's impoverished turkey, and must get to work again as soon as possible."

"There is no need of thee feeling that way; we—" and then she stopped and blushed.

"I know all about 'we,'" I laughed; "your hearts are as large as this wide valley, but then I must keep my self-respect, you know. You have no idea how happy you ought to be in such a home as yours."

"I like the city better," she replied, blushing, and she hastily left the room.

My greed for work departed as abruptly. "Poor child!" I muttered. "'Life is a tangle,' as Miss Warren said, and a wretched one, too, for many of us."

Mrs. Yocomb soon after came in, and looked with solicitude at my almost untasted dinner.

"Why, Richard," she said, "thy appetite flags strangely. Isn't thy dinner to thy taste?"

"The fault is wholly in me," I replied.

"Thee doesn't look so well—nothing like so well. Has Adah said anything to trouble thee?" she asked apprehensively.

"No, indeed; Adah is just as good and kind as she can be. She's becoming as good as she is beautiful. Every day increases my respect for her;" and I spoke earnestly and honestly.

A faint color stole into the matron's cheek, and she seemed pleased and relieved, but she remarked quietly:

"Adah's young and inexperienced." Then she added, with a touch of motherly pride and solicitude, "She's good at heart, and I think is trying to do right."

"She will make a noble woman, Mrs. Yocomb—one that you may well be proud of, or I'm no judge of character," I said, with quiet emphasis. "She and Zillah have both been so kind to me that they already seem like sisters. At any rate, after my treatment in this home I shall always feel that I owe to them a brother's duty."

The color deepened in the old lady's face, that was still so fair and comely, and tears stood in her eyes.

"I understand thee, Richard," she said quietly. "I thought I loved thee for saving our lives and our home, but I love thee more now. Still thee cannot understand a mother's heart. Thee's a true gentleman."

"Dear Mrs. Yocomb, you must learn to understand me better or I shall have to run away in self-defence. When you talk in that style I feel like an arrant hypocrite. I give you my word that I've been swearing this very forenoon."

"Who was thee swearing at?" she asked, in much surprise.

"Myself, and with good reason."

"There is never good reason for such wickedness," she said gravely, but regarding me with deep solicitude. Presently she added, "Thee has had some great provocation?"

"No; I've been honored with unmerited kindness and trust, which I have ill requited." "Emily Warren has been to see thee?"

"Yes."

"Did she tell thee?"

"Yes; and I feel that I could throttle that man. Now you know what a heathen savage I am."

"Yes," she said dryly, "thee has considerable untamed human nature." Then added, smiling, "I'll trust him with thee, nevertheless. I'm inclined to think that for her sake thee'd do more for him than for any man living. Now wouldn't thee?"

"Oh, Satan take him! Yes!" I groaned. "Forgive me, Mrs. Yocomb. I'm so unmanned, so desperate from trouble, that I'm not fit for decent society, much less your company. You believe in a Providence: why was this woman permitted to enslave my very soul when it was of no use?"

"Richard Morton," she said reproachfully, "thee is indeed unmanned. Thee's wholly unjust and unreasonable. This gentleman has been Emily Warren's devoted friend for years. He has taken care of her little property, and done everything for her that her independent spirit would permit. He might have sought an alliance among the wealthiest, but he has sued long and patiently for her hand—"

"Well he might," I interrupted irritably. "Emily Warren is the peer of any man in New York."

"Thee knows New York and the world in general well enough to be aware that wealthy bankers do not often seek wives from the class to which Emily belongs, though in my estimation, as well as in thine, no other class is more respectable. But I'm not blinded by prejudice, and I think it speaks well for him that he is able to recognize and honor worth wherever he finds it. Still, he knew her family. The Warrens were quite wealthy, too, at one time."

"What is his name?" I asked sullenly.

"Gilbert Hearn." "What, Hearn the banker, who resides on Fifth Avenue?"

"The same."

"I know him—that is, I know who he is—well." Then I added bitterly, "It's just like him; he has always had the good things of this world, and always will. He'll surely marry her."

"Has thee anything against him?"

"Yes, infinitely much against him: I feel as if he were seeking to marry my wife."

"That's what thee said when out of thy mind," she exclaimed apprehensively. "I hope thee is not becoming feverish?" "Oh, no, Mrs. Yocomb, I've nothing against him at all. He is pre-eminently respectable, as the world goes. He is shrewd, wonderfully shrewd, and always makes a ten-strike in Wall Street; but his securing Miss Warren was a masterstroke. There, I'm talking slang, and disgracing myself generally." But my bitter spirit broke out again in the words, "Never fear; Gilbert Hearn will have the best in the city; nothing less will serve him."

"Thee is prejudiced and unjust. I hope thee'll be in a better mood to-morrow," and she left my room looking hurt and grieved.

I sank back in my chair in wretched, reckless apathy, and from the depths of my heart wished I had died.

After a little time Mrs. Yocomb came hastily in, looking half ashamed of her weakness, and in her hands was a bowl of delicious broth.

"My heart relents toward thee," she said, with moist eyes. "I ought to have made more allowance for one whose mother left him much too early. Take this, every drop, and remember thy pledge to get well and be a generous man. I'll trust thee to keep thy word," and she departed before I could speak.

"Well, I should be a devil incarnate if I didn't become a man after her kindness," I muttered, and I gulped down the broth and my evil mood at the same time.

At the end of an hour I could almost have shaken hands with Gilbert
Hearn, who prospered in all that he touched.

As the sun declined I heard the rustle of a silk on the stairway. A moment later Miss Warren mounted the horseblock and stood waiting for Reuben, who soon appeared in the family rockaway.

I thought the maiden looked a trifle pale in contrast with her light silk, but perhaps it was the shadow of the tree she stood under; but I muttered, "Even his critical taste can find no fault with that form and face; she'll grace his princely home, and none will recognize the truth more clearly than he."

She hesitatingly lifted her eyes toward my window, and I started back, forgetting that I was hidden by the half-closed blind; but my face suffused with pleasure as I said to myself:

"Heaven bless her! she does not forget me wholly, even on the threshold of her happiness."

At that moment Old Plod, passing through the yard in his early Saturday release from toil, gave a loud whinny of recognition. The young girl started visibly, sprang lightly down from the block and caressed her great heavy-footed pet, and then, without another glance at my window, entered the rockaway, and was driven rapidly toward the distant depot at which she would welcome the most fortunate man in the world.

I now felt sure that I had guessed her associations with the old plow-horse, and, sore-hearted as I was, I laughed long and silently over the quaint fancy.

"Truly," I muttered, "the courtly and elegant banker would not feel flattered if he knew about it. How in the world did she ever come to unite the two in her mind?"

But as I thought it all over I was led to conclude that it was natural enough. The lonely girl had no doubt found that even in the best society of a Christian city she must ever be warily on her guard. She was beautiful, and yet poor and apparently friendless; and, as she had intimated, she had found many of the young and gay ready to flatter, and with anything but sincere motives. The banker, considerably her senior, had undoubtedly proved himself a quiet, steadfast friend. He was not the fool to neglect her as did those stupid horses, for any oats the world could offer, and she always found him, like Old Plod, ready to drop everything for her, and well he might. "No matter how devoted he has been, he can never plume himself on any magnanimity," I said to myself. "She probably finds him a trifle formal and sedate, and rather lacking in ideality, just as Old Plod is very stolid till she appears; but then he is safe and strong, and very kind to a friendless girl, who might well shrink from the vicissitudes of her lot, and would naturally be attracted by the protection and position which he could offer. In spite of the disparity of years, a woman might easily love a man who could do so much for her, and the banker is still well preserved and handsome. Of course Emily Warren does love him: all the wealth of Wall Street could not buy her. Yes, in a world full of lightning flashes she has made a thrifty and excellent choice. I may as well own it, in spite of every motive to prejudice. Gilbert Hearn is not my ideal man by any means. Good things are essential to him. He would feel personally aggrieved if the weather was bad for two days in succession. He is very charitable and public-spirited, and he likes our paper to recognize the fact: I have proof of that too. Alms given in the dark are not exactly wasted—but I'm thinking scandal. He so likes to let his 'light so shine.' He's respectability personified, and the toil-worn girl will be taken into an ark of safety.

"I suppose I ought to be magnanimous enough to think that it's all for the best, since he can do infinitely more for her than I ever could. She will be the millionaire's wife, and I'll go back to my dingy little office and write paragraphs heavy enough to sink a cork ship. Thus will end my June idyll; but should I live a century I will always feel that Gilbert Hearn married my wife."