Twenty years had passed since Leslie’s _affaire du cœur_ with Clara Clayton. With her treachery expired his confidence in the sex. In vain had the lovely, gay and fashionable women thrown their gilded nets. In every one of the fair fishers he but saw a cousin german to Clara, and warily shunned the danger. Thus had he reached forty-one years of age with the full consent of all his friends, male and female, that he should remain a bachelor for life. And to all appearances such seemed to be the settled destiny of Leslie Pierpoint. He himself had no more thoughts of committing matrimony than suicide. He never spake to any woman save his washerwoman and linen sempstress. His mother had been several years dead, and he lived alone—a bachelor! the victim of a heartless woman’s treachery. He now sat gazing into the fire with a cup of tea in his hand, and which he seemed to have forgotten that he held. The state house clock tolled seven and he started, laid down his cup and saucer, and rang the bell. It was immediately answered by a very gentlemanly African servant in grey clothes with bright steel buttons, red cravat, and shoes with old fashioned paste buckles in them. “Cato.” “Sar, massa?” “Have my new linens come home yet?” “No, massa, not yit.” “They were to be here at six. Go and see that they are sent in time to pack into my trunks to-night, for we must start for New York early.” “Yes, massa,” said Cato, with a graceful bow, and was in the act of leaving the room to obey his master’s orders, when a ringing at the street door bell arrested him. “I guess dem is de sharts now, massa.” “Go and see, and show the woman up.” Cato left the room, while Leslie took up the evening paper. Directly the servant reappeared, ushering in a very modest young girl, coarse in her dress, but of extraordinary beauty. She was scarcely seventeen, yet the womanly outline and youthful roundness of her sylph-like figure were perfect. Her complexion was very brilliant; her cheeks blushed with diffidence and beauty; her eyes were large, blue, and melting in their own cerulean heaven; her lips ripe and full, and her chin voluptuously rounded, yet most exquisitely turned. Native grace was in every movement she made. Her dress was of very plain calico, and she wore a common straw hat with a long green veil. In her hands she carried two bundles, very neatly done up in white paper. “De sharts come,” said Cato, making a low bow to Leslie’s back. “Here de young woman wid ’em.” “Very well, Cato; remove the tea-tray. I will ring for you to show the woman out soon as I have settled with her.”