The ice was fairly broken now, and very briefly but candidly Mrs. Johnson told why she did not like him. He was handsome, refined, educated and agreeable, she admitted, but there was something lacking. The mask he was wearing had not deceived her, and she would have liked him far better without it. This she said to Alice, adding gently, “He may be all he seems, but I doubt it. I distrust him greatly. I think he fancies you and loves your money.” “Oh, mother, you do him injustice, and he has been so kind to us, while Snowdon is so much pleasanter since he came.” “Are you engaged to him?” was Mrs. Johnson’s next question. “No,” and Alice looked up wonderingly. “I do not like him well enough for that.” Alice Johnson was wholly ingenuous and would not for the world have concealed a thing from her mother, and very frankly she continued, “I like Dr. Richards better than any gentleman I have ever met, and it seems to me that people here do him injustice, but I may be mistaken. I know he is unpopular, and that first made me sorry for him. I am sure he is pleased with me, but he has never asked me to be his wife. I should have told you, mother,” and the beautiful eyes which had so charmed the doctor, looked up confidingly at the pale face bending over them. “God bless my darling, and keep her as innocent as now,” Mrs. Johnson murmured, bowing her head upon her daughter’s, and kissing the rosy cheek. “I am glad there is no engagement. Will you promise there shall not be for one year at least?” It was a hard thing to ask, for more than she guessed, till then, did Alice’s heart incline toward Dr. Richards. Slily, adroitly, he had insinuated himself into her affections, boasting that he could sway her at will, only let him attend the Lenten services, week days and all, drop something in the plate every Sabbath, speak to all the ragamuffins he met, take old Mrs. Snyder out for an airing every week, and he was all right with Alice Johnson. And this was the man from whom Mrs. Johnson would save her daughter, asking again for the promise. “Yes, I will, I do,” Alice said at last. A second “God bless my darling,” came from the mother’s lips, and drawing her treasure nearer to her, she continued, “You have made me very happy, and by and by you’ll be so glad. You may leave me now, for I am tired and faint.” It was long ere Alice forgot the expression of her mother’s face or the sound of her voice, as she bade her good night on that last evening they ever spent together alone. The indisposition of which Mrs. Johnson had been complaining for several days, proved to be no light matter, and when next morning Dr. Rogers was summoned to her bedside, he decided it to be a fever which was then prevailing to some extent in the neighboring towns.