Hetty heaved a thoughtful sigh, and a faint color came into her cheeks. She had reason. This Nicholas Anderson had been a medical student, apprenticed to her father; or rather placed with him, to be prepared for his profession. He was perhaps a year older than Hetty, and had regarded her with more than ordinary warmth of affection. He had, in fact, proposed to her, and had been conditionally accepted on a year’s probation. The trouble was, he was a little disposed to be wild, and, being naturally of a lively and careless temperament, did not exercise sufficient discrimination in the choice of his associates. Hetty had loved him as warmly as one of her nature could love. She was not one who would be drawn away beyond the dictates of reason and judgment by the force of affection. Still, it was not without a feeling of deep sorrow,—deeper than her calm manner led him to suspect,—that, at the end of the year’s probation, she informed Anderson that the result of his trial was not favorable to his suit, and that henceforth he must give up all thoughts of her. To his vehement asseverations, promises, and protestations, she returned the same steady and inflexible answer; and, at the close of the interview, he left her, quite as full of indignation against her as of grief for his rejection. That night, his clothing was packed up, and lowered from the window; and, when the next morning dawned, it was found that he had left the house, never, as was intimated in a slight note pencilled and left on the table in his room, to return again. * * * * * While Miss Henderson’s mind was far back in the past, she had not observed the approach of a man, shabbily attired, accompanied by a little girl apparently some eight years of age. The man’s face bore the impress of many cares and hardships. The little girl was of delicate appearance; and an occasional shiver showed that her garments were too thin to protect her sufficiently from the inclemency of the weather. “This is the place, Henrietta,” said the traveller at length, pausing at the head of the gravelled walk which led up to the front door of the prim-looking brick house. Together they entered; and a moment afterwards, just as Miss Hetty was preparing to lay the cloth for dinner, a knock sounded through the house. “Goodness!” said Miss Hetty, fluttered. “Who can it be that wants to see me at this hour?” Smoothing down her apron, and giving a look at the glass to make sure that her hair was in order, she hastened to the door. “Will it be asking too much, madam, to request a seat by your fire for myself and little girl for a few moments? It is very cold.” Miss Hetty could feel that it _was_ cold. Somehow, too, the appealing expression of the little girl’s face touched her. So she threw the door wide open, and bade them enter.