The brief introduction was over, and then Ellen rose to go, complaining that she was cold and tired. "We will go, too," said Jessie, putting on her hat, when Mr. Bellenger touched her arm, and said in a low voice of entreaty: "Stay here with me." "Yes, stay," rejoined Ellen, who caught the words. "It is pleasant here, and I can go alone." So Jessie stayed, and when the slow footsteps had died away in the distance William sat down beside her, and after expressing his delight at meeting her again, said, indifferently as it were: "By the way, I have just come from New Haven, where I had the pleasure of hearing the charity boy’s valedictory. It is strange what assurance some people have." "Charity boy!" repeated Jessie; "I thought Walter Marshall was to deliver the valedictory." "And isn’t he a charity scholar? Don’t your father pay his bills?" asked William, in a tone which Jessie did not like. "Well, yes," she answered, "but somehow I don’t like to hear you call him that, because——" she hesitated, and William’s face grew dark while waiting for her answer, which, when it came, was, "because he saved my life;" and then Jessie told her companion how, but for Walter Marshall, she would not have been sitting there that summer afternoon. "Was Walter’s speech a good one?" she asked, her manner indicating that she knew it was. Not a change in her speaking face escaped the watchful eye of William, and knowing well that insinuations are often stronger and harder to refute than any open assertion, he replied, with seeming reluctance: "Yes, very good; though some of it sounded strangely familiar, and I heard others hinting pretty strongly at plagiarism." This last was in a measure true, for one of Walter’s class, chagrined that the honor was not conferred upon himself, had taken pains to say that the valedictory was not all of it Walter’s,—that an older and wiser head had helped him in its composition. William did not believe this, but it suited his purpose to repeat it, and he watched narrowly for the effect. Jessie Graham was the soul of truth, and no accusation could have been brought against Walter which would have pained her so much as the belief that he had been dishonorable in the least degree. "Walter would never pass off what was not his own!" she exclaimed. "It isn’t like him, or like any of the Marshall family." "You forget his father," said the man beside her, carelessly thrusting aside a cone with his polished boot. "What did his father do?" Jessie asked in some surprise, and her companion replied: "You astonish me, Miss Graham, by professing ignorance of what Walter’s father did. You know, of course."