“Yes; and when evening comes round I light my candle and play at solitaire, and listen to the cats caterwauling on the roof.” “How lonely!” exclaimed the girl. “Perhaps it may be. Yet in solitude one hears and sees strange things. I love solitude.” “Really?” “I do; nevertheless, I own ’twould be better in some respects not to dwell so much by myself. Therefore I give you leave to come here whenever you please; yes, come and sweep and rummage and turn things topsy-turvy, if you like.” At this Marguerite burst into a laugh. “Ha! probably you think my apartment is already topsy-turvy? Well, it only seems so to you; to my eye there is perfect order in all this chaos.” “And the buttons, sir, in yonder cigar-box—” Marguerite did not end the phrase; she hoped he would understand her, and Abel did. “Humph! you have discovered those buttons, eh? Well, they came off my clothes. And here let me observe, my young friend, the next important thing to invent is a suit of clothes without any buttons.” “Well, until you invent one, please allow me to sew those buttons on again. Will you?” “Alas!” replied Abel, “the shirts and coats and trousers to which they once belonged are long since worn out; and now I have no clothes left but the clothes I have on.” “This was a very fine suit once,” said Marguerite. “The cloth is excellent.” “Yes, I had it made by a fashionable tailor; for I intended to wear it when I went to visit influential people, and try and interest them in my—in my—” Here Abel heaved a sigh, while a look of deeper gloom shadowed his face than the girl had yet observed upon it. “Pray tell me what troubles you,” said Marguerite. “Do tell me. Perhaps I may be able to comfort you.” Then, as he made no response, she went on: “Have those of whom you sought aid turned a cold shoulder upon you? Have they refused to help you with this Magic Hen’s Nest? Why, I thought, sir, ’twas a profound secret; that you had told nobody about it.” “No, no; I don’t allude to this, but to something else—to something which I cannot think of without an agony of mind I hope God may spare you from ever suffering. I had forgotten all about it; I had not thought of it for ever so long, till our conversation brought it back to me. Oh! do let me forget it—forget it for ever.” “I guessed when I first saw you, poor dear man, that there was a heavy burden on your heart,” spoke Marguerite inwardly. “Now your own lips have confessed it to me. Oh! if I only knew you better, I might be able to console you.” She refrained, however, from asking again what his cross was; but little doubting that ’twas connected in some way with another invention, she determined on a future occasion to ask him to tell her the history of his life. “And who knows but I may find the means of bringing back the smiles to his mournful visage. If I do, ’twill be a slight return for all the kindness he has shown me.”