"That he was engaged to me!" finished Ida, laughingly. "Your shrewdness is at fault for once, Charley. I have known of his engagement ever since last summer--almost a year." "How did you hear of it?" "From himself." "All right then, I suppose;" Charley reluctantly conceded "I'll be hanged if I don't believe it's all wrong!" he muttered, as he walked down the street. Ida did not mutter or sigh, on her way home. She cheered Mrs. Read's drooping spirits by reporting their case in excellent hands, and the happy Providence which appeared likely to befall them in Richard's projected jaunt. "A day is as precious to us, at this juncture, as if its minutes were diamonds," said she. Withdrawing to her chamber, she wept long and sadly. "If I could only have seen him for one hour! one minute! Oh! I shall never be free--never forget! Can I censure poor Helen, when I am myself so weak? for it is sin to love him, the promised husband of another!" An hour--and she was with her dejected charge, busy and cheerful--yet so thoughtful, so sympathetic, that the repentant wanderer blessed her as a heavenly messenger of compassion and goodness. Ida was dressing in the morning, when she received a note from Charley. "Mr. A---- decamped yesterday afternoon, servants and baggage--it is said not to revisit these parts shortly. I do not know whether this much discussed Hegira is, in any way, attributable to your billet, but write, in the supposition, that the fact may not be uninteresting. Mr. C---- and myself are on the point of starting upon our ride;--return to-night. In haste, yours, CHARLEY." Ida smiled scornfully. "The caitiff! I said the false were seldom brave!" She sent the note to Mrs. Read. Rachel brought up an answer. "You are my guardian angel," it said. "The God you love and serve, may reward you--I never can. I shall spend this day alone. Richard must hear the truth, and I should be his informant--not that miserable girl, who would gloat upon the sight of his grief and amazement. I shall write him everything. Pray for me!" Towards evening, Rachel, as the only trustworthy bearer, was dispatched to Richard's hotel with the letter. Mrs. Read had expended her moral courage in the execution of this mortifying duty. She passed a wretched night--a prey to agonizing anticipations--imagining Mr. Ashlin's return; his being overtaken; the death of one or both; Richard's desertion of her, or that her family would disown her. Ida stayed with her, but her condolences and sanguine predictions were futile. "You do not know Richard!" was Mrs. Read's invariable answer. He appeared at the hour for departure, and without coming in, sent to inquire if she was ready. Ida supported the half-swooning woman down stairs. Richard was in the porch. He saluted her slightly--his sister, not at all;--his face so gloomy and stern, Ida dared not accost him. Josephine was less timorous, or had a stronger incentive. She walked boldly to the door.