“I’ll not be so imprudent again,” returned Clara. “Will you play for me, sir?” And she resumed her seat on the sofa. Vance played some extemporized variations on the Carnival of Venice; and Clara, who had regarded Mrs. Bernard’s praises as extravagant, now concluded they were the literal truth. “Oh!” she exclaimed, naively, “I never heard playing like that. Do not ask me to play before you again, sir.” Mrs. Bernard left to attend to the affairs of the _cuisine_. “Now, mademoiselle,” said Vance, “what can I do before I go?” “All I want,” replied Clara, “is time to arrange some plan. I left home so suddenly I’m quite at a loss.” “Do I understand you’ve left your parents?” “I have no parents, sir.” “Then a near relation, or a guardian?” “Neither, sir. I am independent of all ties.” “Have you no friend to whom you can go for advice?” “I had a friend, but she gave me up because I’m an Abolitionist.” “My poor little lady! An Abolitionist? You? In times like these? When Sumter has fallen, too? No wonder your friend has cast you off. Who is she?” “Miss Laura Tremaine. She lives at the St. Charles. Do you know her, sir?” “Slightly. I met her in the drawing-room not long since. She does not appear unamiable. But why are you an Abolitionist?” “Because I believe in God.” Vance felt that this was the summing-up of the whole matter. He looked with new interest on the “little lady.” In height she was somewhat shorter than Estelle,—not much over five feet two and a half. Not from her features, but from the maturity of their expression, he judged she might have reached her eighteenth year. Somewhat more of a brunette than Estelle, and with fine abundant hair of a light brown. Eyes—he could not quite see their color; but they were vivid, penetrating, earnest. Features regular, and a profile even more striking in its beauty than her front face. A figure straight and slim, but exquisitely rounded, and every movement revealing some new grace. Where had he seen a face like it? After a few moments of contemplation, he said: “Do not think me impertinently curious. You have been well educated. You have not had to labor for a living. Are the persons to whom you’ve been indebted for support no longer your friends?” “They are my worst enemies, and all that has been bestowed on me has been from hateful motives and calculations.”—“Now I’m going to ask a very delicate question. Are you provided with money?”—“O yes, sir, amply.”—“How much have you?”—“Twenty dollars.”—“Indeed! Are you so rich as that? What’s your name?”—“The name I’ve been brought up under is Ellen Murray; but I hate it.”—“Why so?”—“Because of a dream.”—“A dream! And what was it?”—“Shall I relate it?”—“By all means.”