A few months after his return from Europe, the “Eldorado” speculation took place, the facts of which, through the newspaper notoriety given to the fraud, became pretty well known in mercantile circles. “Henry, you must give up that girl!” said old Mr. Pascal, positively. “Her father is going down hill as fast as he can go, and will not be worth a dollar in five years. Forty thousand dollars swept away in a single mad speculation! When a man begins to deal in imaginary western cities, at such a rate, his case is hopeless.” Henry made no reply. The idea of connecting himself in marriage with the family of a ruined merchant, was by no means pleasant, but he had become really attached to Eveline, and the thought of giving her up disturbed him. As before, he continued his attentions, determined to await the issue of events, and act with decision when circumstances sufficiently strong to prompt to decided action should occur. How utterly unconscious, all this time, was the happy-hearted maiden, of the near approach of circumstances that threatened to destroy her peace. Her lover came and went as before, and seemed to be the same. He was her companion in public places, and sat by her side in private circles. But still, and she often wondered at it, he never spoke of marriage. Thus progressed events, with the merchant and his family, toward a great crisis. After the repulse which had been given to Albertson, Eunice changed, but the change developed no harsh features in her character. Like a flower whose leaves have been slightly crushed, the odor thereof was sweeter. To her father she was ever gentle in her manner, and thoughtful of his comfort. This troubled him, and made him often repent of the rudeness with which he had laid his hand upon a heart so full of gentle impulses. Albertson did not attempt to visit her again, and when he met her in company, maintained toward her a reserved and distant manner corresponding with her own. But when they did thus meet, and their eyes lingered in each other’s gaze for a few brief moments, a long history of mutual love was told. CHAPTER VIII. AFFLICTION. One day Mr. Townsend came home earlier in the afternoon than usual, his face wearing a troubled look. He found his wife and daughters alone in the parlors. “I’ve just received letters from New Orleans,” he said. “How is John?” eagerly asked Mrs. Townsend, interrupting him. “He is sick,” was replied. “Sick! Not dangerously, I hope?” “I am afraid so. One of his clerks has written.” “What is the matter with him?” “He does not say--but I will read you his letter.” And Mr. Townsend drew forth a letter and read: