"You here--you of all others," I broke out, in tones of exasperation. "I meant that your first evening should be without a shadow, and have failed, as I now fail in everything. Call Reuben." "Let me help you?" she pleaded, in the same hurried voice. "No," I replied harshly, and I leaned heavily against the wall. She held out her hand to aid me, but I would not take it. "I've no right even to look at you--I who have been doubly enjoined to cherish such a 'scrupulous sense of honor.' I'd better have died a thousand times. Call Reuben." "How can I leave you so ill and unhappy!" and she made a gesture of protest and distress whose strong effect was only intensified by the obscurity. "I had hoped--you led me to think to-night--" "That I was a weather-vane. Thank you." Steps were heard entering the hall. "Oh! oh!" she exclaimed, in bitter protest. "Emily," called the banker's voice, "are you not very long?" I seized her hand to detain her, and said, in a fierce whisper: "Never so humiliate me as to let him know. Go at once; some one will find me." "Your hand is like ice," she breathed. I ignored her presence, leaned back, and closed my eyes. She paused a single instant longer, and then, with a firm, decisive bearing, turned and passed quietly down the stairway. "What in the world has kept you?" Mr. Hearn asked, a trifle impatiently. "Can you tell me where Reuben is?" she answered, in a clear, firm voice, that she knew I must hear. "What does thee want, Emily?" cried Reuben from the piazza. "Mr. Morton wishes to see you," she replied, in the same tone that she would have used had my name been Mrs. Yocomb's, and then she passed out with her affianced. Reuben almost ran over me as he came bounding up the stairs. "Hold on, old fellow," I whispered, and I pulled him down beside me. "Can you keep a secret? I'm played out--Reuben--to speak elegantly--and I don't wish a soul to know it. I'm sitting very--comfortably on this step--you see--that's the way it looks--but I'm stuck--hard aground--you'll have to tow me off. But not a word, remember. Lift me up--let me get my arm around your neck--there. Lucky I'm not heavy--slow and easy now--that's it. Ah, thank the Lord! I'm in my refuge again. I felt like a scotched snake that couldn't wriggle back to its hole. Hand me that brandy there--like a good fellow. Now I won't kelp you--any longer. If you care--for me--never speak of this." "Please let me tell mother?" "No, indeed." "But doesn't Emily Warren know?" "She knows I wanted to see you." "Please let me do something or get thee something." "No; just leave me to myself a little while, and I'll be all right. Go at once, that's a good fellow." "Oh, Richard, thee shouldn't have come down. Thee looks so pale and sick that I'm afraid thee'll die yet; if thee does, thee'll break all our hearts," and the warm-hearted boy burst out crying, and ran and locked himself in his room.