Poor Nellie! How every word sank into her soul, torturing her almost to madness. She did not stop to consider the improbability of what she heard. Naturally impulsive and excitable, she believed it all, for if John Jr. really loved her, as once she had fondly believed, had there not been a thousand opportunities for him to tell her so? At this moment Mabel reentered the parlor, and Nellie, on the plea of seeing to the dinner, left the room, going she scarce knew whither, until she found herself in a little arbor at the foot of the garden, where many and many a time John Jr. had sat with her, and where he would never sit again—so she thought, so she believed—and throwing herself upon one of the seats, she struggled hard to school herself to meet the worst—to conquer the bitter resentment which she felt rising within her toward Mabel, who had supplanted her in the affections of the only one she had ever loved. Nellie had a noble, generous nature, and after a few moments of calmer reflection, she rose up, strengthened in her purpose of never suffering Mabel to know how deeply she had wronged her. “She is an orphan—a lonely orphan,” thought she, “and God forbid that through me one drop of bitterness should mingle in her cup of joy.” With a firm step she walked to the kitchen, gave some additional orders concerning the dinner, and then returned to the parlor, half shuddering when Mabel came near her, and then with a strong effort pressing the little blue-veined hand laid so confidingly upon her own. Dinner being over, Mrs. Livingstone, who had some other calls to make, took her leave, bidding a most affectionate adieu to Mabel, who clung to her as if she had indeed been her mother. “Good-bye, darling Meb,” said she. “I shall come for you to visit us erelong.” Turning to Nellie, she said, “Do take care of her health, which you know is now precious to more than one;” then in a whisper she added, “Remember that what I have told you is sacred.” The next moment she was gone, and mechanically, Nellie returned to the parlor, together with Mabel, whose unusual buoyancy of spirits contrasted painfully with the silence and sadness which lay around her heart. That night, Mr. Douglass had some business in the city, and the two girls were left alone. The lamps were unlighted, for the full golden moonlight, which streamed through the window-panes, suited better the mood of Nellie, who leaning upon the arm of the sofa, looked listlessly out upon the deep beauty of the night. Upon a little stool at her feet sat Mabel, her head resting on Nellie’s lap, and her hand searching in vain for another, which involuntarily moved farther and farther away, as hers advanced. At length she spoke: “Nellie, dear Nellie—there is something I want so much to tell you—if you will hear it, and not think me foolish.”