The blind man sighed, while Alice dropped a tear on the vest she was making, as she thought of the difference between herself and Adelaide, who paused as she reached the door, and asked if she knew Mr. Howland. “I sew for his store,” said Alice, and Adelaide continued: “Isn’t he a splendid man?” Alice did not know whether he was splendid or not—she had never observed his looks particularly, she said; but she knew he was very kind, and she liked nothing better than to have him come there evenings, as he often did. “Come here often!” exclaimed Adelaide, her voice indicating the pang with which a feeling of jealousy had been brought to life. Before Alice could reply there was a footstep outside, and the blind man, whose quick ear caught the sound, said joyfully: “He’s coming now.” “I wish I had gone home before,” was the first thought of Adelaide, who did not care to be seen there by Mr. Howland. It might lead to some inquiries which she would rather should not be made. Still, there was now no escape, and trusting much to the promise of the Warrens, she stepped back from the door just as Mr. Howland opened it. He seemed greatly surprised at finding her there, and still more surprised when he learned that they were old acquaintances. “It is kind in her not to desert them in their poverty,” he thought, and his manner was still more considerate toward Adelaide, who, after standing a few moments, made another attempt to go. “Wait, Miss Huntington,” said he. “It was both raining and snowing when I came in, and you will need an umbrella.” This was just what Adelaide wanted, and taking a seat she waited patiently until Mr. Howland signified his readiness to go. Then, bidding Alice good night, she whispered to her softly: “You never will say a word of father, will you?” “Certainly not,” was Alice’s reply, and in another moment Adelaide was in the street walking arm in arm with Mr. Howland, who began to speak of the Warrens and their extreme poverty. “It is evident they have seen better days,” he said, “but they never seem willing to speak of the past. Did he meet with a reverse of fortune?” For a moment Adelaide was silent, while she revolved the propriety of saying what she finally did say, and which was— “Ye-es—they met with reverses, but as they are unwilling to talk about it, I, too, had better say nothing of a matter which cannot now be helped.” “Of course not, if it would be to their detriment,” said Mr. Howland, a painful suspicion entering his mind. Hitherto he had regarded Mr. Warren as the soul of integrity, but Adelaide’s manner, even more than her words, implied that there was something wrong, and hardly knowing what he said, he continued: “Was it anything dishonorable?” “If you please, I would rather say nothing about it,” answered Adelaide. “I don’t wish to do them harm, and I dare say they regret it more than any one else.”