Wild with these rash thoughts, she would have called out for him to stop; but she was panting for breath, and no sound came when she made a wild effort to utter his name. Then, with the faintness, came other thoughts. His parents never would consent that he should marry her. It would be ruin, utter ruin to him. What wild, wicked thing was she about? After resisting her own love, and his unhappiness so bravely, was she to destroy it all and ruin him because of that awful heartache? But she was so tired, so completely worn out. A few moments she would rest on that door-step, and then go home. It did not matter much what became of her, since he had gone, believing her a fickle, heartless girl, capable of marrying that creature. No; it was of very little consequence, for—for—for—— Unhappy girl, she had fallen into insensibility on that door-step, and there she lay like a lost lamb, pale and still. Anna had scarcely rested on those cold stones five minutes, when an old man turned from the street and was about to mount the steps. He saw her lying there, with the light from a street lamp blazing on her features. They were so white that he thought at first she must be dead. Stooping down, he found that she had fainted, and rang the bell violently. A servant came out, and lifting the insensible girl between them, master and man bore her into that old-fashioned family mansion, which I have described in the early part of this story. They laid her on a broad-seated old sofa in the front room, and then, for the first time, that strange old man recognized her as the girl he had seen in that poverty-stricken home picture. He had been a voyage to Europe since then, but those delicate features were fresh in his memory yet. “Bring brandy, wine, every thing that can help her out of this cold fit,” he said to the servant. “I know the girl, and will take charge of her myself.” The wine and brandy were brought. With his old hand shaking the glass unsteadily, the master poured wine through those white lips. It was a simple case of exhaustion, and Anna soon felt a glow of life diffusing itself through her frame. “Give me another glass—not the brandy, that is too strong; but generous wine hurts no one. Take another drink, child, and then tell me all about it. Remember, I am your friend.” “Yes,” said Anna, “I remember you were very good to grandmother and the children once. We do not forget such kindness.” “But how happens it that you are here?” inquired the old man, smoothing her hair with his hand. “Come out on an errand, I suppose, or something like that, and wilted down on my door-step. Singular, wasn’t it? Do you know that your brother is in my employ? Found the place out for himself; didn’t know it was mine. Mean to make a man of that shaver, I promise you. True as steel, and good as gold. Now tell me all about yourself.” “Oh! if I only could,” she said, looking earnestly in his face. “But you can. Of course, you can.”