He was sorry Adah was gone and he missed her sadly, but it was not so much of her he was thinking as of Alice. During the last few days she had puzzled him greatly. Her manner had been unusually kind, her voice unusually soft and low when she addressed him, while several times he had met her eyes fixed upon him with an expression he could not fathom, and which had made his heart beat high as hope whispered of what might perhaps be, in spite of all his fears. Poor Hugh! he never dreamed that Alice’s real feelings towards him during those few days were those of pity, as she saw how silent and moody he grew, and attributed it to his grief at parting with Adah. She was of course very dear to him, she supposed, and Alice’s kind heart went out toward him with a strong desire to comfort him, to tell him how she, as far as possible, would fill Adah’s place. Had she dreamed of his real feelings, she never would have done what she did, but she was wholly unconscious of it, and so when, late that night, she returned to the parlor in quest of something she had left, and found him sitting there alone, she paused a moment on the threshold, wondering if she had better join him or go away. His back was toward her, and he did not hear her light step, so intently was he gazing into the burning grate, and trying to frame the words he should say if ever he dared tell Alice Johnson of his love. There was much girlish playfulness in Alice’s nature, and gliding across the carpet, she clasped both her hands before his eyes, and exclaimed— “A penny for your thoughts.” Hugh started as suddenly as if some apparition had appeared before him, and blushing guiltily, clasped and held upon his face the little soft, warm hands which did not tremble, but lay still beneath his own. It was Providence which sent her there, he thought; Providence indicating that he might speak, and he would. “I am glad you have come. I wish to talk with you,” he said, drawing her down into a chair beside him, and placing his arm lightly across its back. “What sent you here, Alice? I supposed you had retired,” he continued, bending upon her a look which made her slightly uncomfortable. But she soon recovered, and answered laughingly— “I came for my scissors, and finding you here alone, thought I would startle you, but you have not told me yet of what you were thinking.” “Of the present, past and future,” he replied; then letting his hand drop from the back of the chair upon her shoulder, he continued, “May I talk freely with you? May I tell you of myself, what I was, what I am, what I hope to be?” His hand upon her shoulder made Alice a little uneasy but he had put it there in such a quiet, matter of course way, that he might think her prudish if she objected. Still her cheeks burned, and her voice was not quite steady, as, rising from her seat, she said,