It was not a very comfortable walk to either party, or a very sociable one either, but ere it was ended Annie had reason to be glad that she was not alone, for as Jimmie had predicted, the streets were full of men and boys, following the band up to the Mather Mansion, and as they met group after group of the noisy throng, Annie timidly drew closer to her companion, who pressed more tightly the arm trembling in his own. “I am glad you came with me,” she said, when at last the friendly gleam of the widow’s candle appeared in view, “but if you please I think you had better not go in to-night. You are so much a stranger to the family, and Mrs. Simms’ boys have but just returned. John will see me safely home, and I’ll excuse you now. You must feel anxious to rejoin your brother.” But Jimmie was not to be disposed of so easily. He had no intention of entering the house, but he should wait outside, he said, until Annie’s visit was over. Annie had no alternative save submission, and parting from Jimmie at the gate, she hurried up the walk and was soon bending over the couch of the sick boy, whose eyes beamed the welcome his pale lips could scarcely speak. How many questions she had to ask him, and how much he had to tell her of that day when her husband received his fatal wound. Altogether it was a sad interview, and Annie’s eyes were nearly blistered with the hot tears she shed while listening to Isaac’s touching account of George ere the woods were gained, and Tom Carleton generously gave up his seat to the bleeding man, thereby becoming himself a prisoner. Much, too, was said in praise of Tom, and Annie felt that she could not do too much for one who had shown himself so generous and brave. Talking of _Tom_ reminded her of Jimmie stalking up and down the icy walks, waiting patiently for her, and when at last the music of Tom’s serenade had ceased she arose to go, wishing to get away ere the band came there, as she knew they were intending to do. As John arose to accompany her, she had to say that “Jimmie Carleton was waiting for her by the gate.” Instantly the sharp eyes of the widow shot at her a curious glance, which brought the hot blood to her cheek, while John and Susan exchanged a smile, the meaning of which she could not fail to understand. Poor Annie! How her heart throbbed with pain as she guessed of what they were thinking! Could they for a moment believe her so heartless and cold? The mere idea made her dizzy and faint, and scarcely articulating her good-night, she hastened out into the cool night air, feeling half tempted to refuse outright the arm offered for her support. If she only dared tell him to leave her there alone,—leave her to flee away through the dark, lonely streets to the still more lonely yard, where on George’s grave she could lay herself down and die. But not thus easily could life’s heavy burden be shaken off, she could not lay it down at will,—and conquering the emotions which, each time she thought