Col. Tiffton knew that nearly every thing had been purchased by him, and felt glad that a stranger rather than a neighbor was to occupy what had been so dear to him, and that his servants would not be separated. With Ellen it was different. A neighbor might allow them to remain there a time, she said, while a stranger would not, and she was weeping bitterly, when, as the sound of voices and the tread of feet gradually died away from the yard below, Alice came to her side, and bending over her said softly, “Could you bear some good news now;—bear to know who is to inhabit Mosside?” “Good news?” and Ellen looked up wonderingly. “Yes, good news, I think you will call it,” and then as delicately as possible Alice told what had been done, and that the colonel was still to occupy his old home. “As my tenant, if you like,” she said to him, when he began to demur. “You will not find me a hard landlady,” and with playful raillery she succeeded in bringing a smile to his face, where tears also were visible. When at last it was clear to the old man, he laid his hand upon the head of the young girl and whispered huskily, “I cannot thank you as I would, or tell you what’s in my heart. God bless you, Alice Johnson. I wish I too, had found him early as you have, for I know it’s He that put this into your mind. God bless you, God bless my child.” CHAPTER XXIV. THE RIDE. That night after her return from Mosside, Alice had playfully remarked to Hugh, “The Doctor says you stay too closely in the house. You need more exercise, and to-morrow I am going to coax you to ride with me, I am getting quite proud of my horsemanship, and want your opinion, I shall not take an excuse. You are mine for a part of to-morrow,” she added, as she saw him about to speak, and casting upon him her most bewildering smile, he hastily quitted the room, but not until she heard his muttered sigh and guessed that he was thinking of Rocket. He had not asked a question concerning Mosside, and only knew that a stranger had bought it with all its appurtenances. Rocket he had not mentioned, though his pet was really uppermost in his mind, and when he woke next morning from his feverish sleep and remembered Alice’s proposal to ride, he said to himself, “I cannot go, much as I might enjoy it. No other horse would carry me as gently as Rocket. Oh, Rocket!” This was always the despairing cry with which Hugh ended his cogitation of Rocket, and he said it now bitterly, without the shadow of a hope.