“I like a stool better than this chair. I’ll bring it and sit at your feet. There, now I am ready;” and seating herself at a safe distance from him, Alice waited for him to commence. But Hugh was in no hurry then; that little act of hers had chilled him somewhat. Perhaps she did not like his arm around her, perhaps she never would, and that was the saddest thought of all. She had never looked to him as she did to-night, sitting there beside him with the firelight falling upon her bright fair hair curling so gracefully about her forehead and neck. On the high mantel a large mirror was standing, and glancing towards it, Hugh caught the reflection of both their figures, and with his usual depreciation of himself; felt the contrast bitterly. This beautiful young girl could not care for him; it were folly to think of it, and he sat for a moment silent, forgetting that Alice was waiting for him to speak. She grew tired of waiting at last, and turning her eyes upon him, said gently, “You seem unhappy about something. Is it because Adah has gone? I am sorry, too; but, Hugh, I will do what I can to fill her place. I will be the sister you need so much. Don’t look so wretched; it makes me feel badly to see you.” Alice’s sympathy was getting the better of her again, and she moved her stool nearer to Hugh, while she involuntarily laid her hand upon his knee. That decided him; and while his heart throbbed almost to bursting, he began by saying, “I am in rather a gloomy mood to-night, I’ll admit. I do feel Adah’s leaving us very much; but that is not all. I have wished to talk with you a long time—wished to tell you how I feel. May I, Alice?—may I open to you my whole heart, and show you what is there?” For a moment Alice felt a thrill of fear—a dread of what the opening of his heart to her might disclose. Then she remembered Golden Hair, whose name she had never heard him breathe, save as it passed his delirious lips. It was of her he would talk; he would tell her of that hidden love whose existence she felt sure was not known at Spring Bank. Alice would rather not have had this confidence, for the deep love-life of such as, Hugh Worthington seemed to her a sacred thing; but he looked so white, so care-worn, so much as if it would be a relief, that Alice answered at last: “Yes, Hugh, you may tell, and I will listen.” She moved her stool still nearer to him, beginning now to feel anxious herself to hear of one whose very memory had influenced Hugh for good. So sure was Alice that it was Golden Hair of whom he would talk, that when, by way of a commencement, he said to her, “Can you guess what I would tell you?” she answered involuntarily: “I guess it is of somebody you have loved, or do love still.”