"Pray don’t distress yourself," said the delighted Mrs. Bartow. "Of course it isn’t true, and if it were, it’s safe with me. I met this woman last summer in Deerwood, when I went down for Jessie. I chanced to mention your name, as I frequently do when away from you, and this Debby, who is an old maid, seventy at least, said she used to know a factory girl,—Charlotty Ann Gregory, of about her age, who married a man by the name of Reeves, a storekeeper, she called him. It’s a remarkable coincidence, isn’t it, that there should be two Charlotte Ann Gregorys, with sister Lizzies, and that both should marry merchants of the same name and come to New York. But nothing is strange now-a-days, so don’t let it worry you. This old Debby is famous for knowing everybody’s history." Like a drowning man, Mrs. Reeves caught at this last remark. If Debby Marshall knew everybody’s history, she of course knew Mrs. Bartow’s, and the disconcerted lady hastened to ask: "Where did you say she lived?" "In Deerwood, with her brother, Deacon Amos Marshall, about half a mile from the village," returned the unsuspecting Mrs. Bartow. Silently Mrs. Reeves wrote the information upon the tablets of her memory, and then, in a low voice of entreaty, said to her friend: "You know it is all false, as well as you know that there are, in this city, envious people who would delight in just such scandal, and I trust you will not repeat it." "Certainly,—certainly," said Mrs. Bartow, but whether the certainly were affirmative or negative was doubtful. Mrs. Reeves accepted the latter, and then turned to Mrs. Bellenger to remove from her mind any unpleasant impression she might have received. This, however, was wholly unnecessary, for Mrs. Bellenger was too much absorbed in her own reflections to hear what Mrs. Bartow had been saying, and to Mrs. Reeves’ remark, "I trust you do not credit the ridiculous story," she answered: "What story? I heard nothing." Thus relieved in that quarter, Mrs. Reeves became rather more composed, and for the remainder of the evening addressed Mrs. Bartow as "my dear," complimenting her once or twice upon her youthful looks, and saying several flattering things of Jessie. CHAPTER VIII.—A RETROSPECT. The flowers in the garden and the leaves on the trees were withered and dead. The luxuriant hop-vine, which grew about the farm-house door, had yielded its bountiful store, and loosened from its summer fastening trailed upon the ground. The cows no longer fed among the hills, the winter stores had been gathered in, there was a thin coating of ice upon the pond, and a dark, cold mist upon the mountain. There was a pallid hue upon Ellen’s cheek, and a look of strange unrest in her eyes as day after day, all through the autumn time, she watched for the coming of one who had said, "I will be with you when the forest casts its leaf."