At first he resolved to depart immediately for the mines. Reflection however made him abandon this purpose. As he was hourly in expectation of a letter of credit from his home in the Atlantic States, which would place him in possession of ample funds, with which it had been his intention to buy a share of Mr. Vandewater’s business. There was another and far more powerful motive, however, that prevailed upon the young man to refrain from leaving San Francisco. In the hurry of business as in the allurements of pleasure one form was ever present with him. Need we say it was that of the lovely maiden whom he had borne in his arms from the devouring flames. Although he avoided meeting Inez Castro, and her father, it was not that he did not ardently wish to meet with her; but his delicacy shrank from seeming to take advantage of the fact that he had conferred so great an obligation on them, and he feared that gratitude would induce Inez to betray a preference for him which he would fain owe to love alone. One evening soon after Monteagle’s discharge from employment, and after all attempts to procure a situation had proved futile, he wandered about the streets in that sad, dejected mood which comes over one, when friendless and moneyless in a great city. Following a large crowd, he found himself in an extensive bookstore adjoining the Post Office. This was the general rendezvous of merchants, and others, while awaiting the tardy operations of Uncle Sam’s officials. Huge stacks of daily, weekly, and ‘California edition’ papers were rapidly disappearing in supplying the clamorous demands of the eager throng anxious to hear from ‘the old folks at home.’ Monteagle moved among them like a perfect stranger. He felt as though a brand was upon him; but the reason was to him a perfect mystery. Every eye, however open and direct its glance for others, became cold and averted when it met his. He was about turning to leave the store, his sad feeling legibly expressed on his fine features, when he felt a hand upon his shoulder and turning quickly he confronted Mr. G—, one of the proprietors. ‘Ah, good night, Monteagle. Here’s your Herald, and the rest of your papers.’ ‘Thank you, Mr. G—, but,’ and Monteagle lowered his tone, while his cheek was flushed, ‘I’ll come in again—in fact—I’m penniless.’ ‘Never mind that,’ replied the bookseller. ‘Here take the papers,’ and as he spoke, he slipped a twenty dollar piece into his hand. ‘Thank you—thank you,’ cried the grateful youth. ‘I expect a remittance from home to-morrow, and then I will repay you.’ But had Monteagle seen the expression of the bookseller’s manly face, he would have known that he was repaid already. His own noble heart approved the generous, and with him by no means unusual act.