a duty of friendship that any one of them would have answered as I am doing, if called upon. I’ll soon be back.” Away he went. Charles felt unusually well that evening and exerted himself for his cousin. Once out of the house George hesitated whether he should go to see Mr. Bell or Mr. Miller. He went to Mr. Miller. They had been friends first at school, then at college, and since up to now. “I am sorry to have sent for you,” exclaimed Mr. Miller holding out his hand. “I hear you have friends this evening.” “It’s the kindest thing you could have done for me this evening,” answered George. “I would have given anything for a plea to be absent myself, and your letter came and afforded it.” What, else they said, was between themselves; it was not much, and in five minutes he was on his way to Bell’s; on he strode his eager feet scarcely touching the ground, he lifted his hat and wiped his brow, hot with anxiety; it was a very bright night the moon high; he reached the mansion, and rang the bell: “Is Mr. Bell at home?” “He’s gone to the North River,” was the answer. “A pretty trick he played me this evening,” said George in a tone of dismay. “What trick,” repeated the house-keeper. “Gone to North River, it cannot be.” “He is,” said she positively; “when I came from market, I found him going off by the train he had received a message which took him up.” “Why did he not call upon me, he knew the necessity there was for me to see him, he ought to have come.” “I conclude he was in a hurry to catch the train,” said she. “Why did he not send?” “I heard him send a verbal message by one of the servants to the effect that he was summoned unexpectedly to North River, and could not, therefore, attend your dinner. How early you have broken up!” “We have not broken up, I left my guests to see after him. No message was brought to me.” “Then I will enquire,” began she, rising, but George waved her back. “It is of little consequence,” he said. “It might have saved me some suspense, but I am glad I got the dinner over without knowing it. I would like to see him.” George arose to go. “Not there, not that way,” she said, for George was turning as if he would go into a dark hall, and she arose and went with him to the door. He intended to take the lonely road homewards, that dark, narrow road you may remember, where the maple trees met overhead. All at once George Taylor did take a step back with a start, when just inside the walk there came a dismal groan from some dark figure seated on a broken bench. It was all dark there, the thick maple trees hid the moon. George had just emerged from where her beams shone bright and open, and not at first did he distinguish who was sitting there, but his eyes grew accustomed to the obscurity. “Charles,” he uttered in consternation, “is that you?” For answer, Charles Taylor caught hold of his cousin, bent forward and laid his head on George’s arm, another deep groan breaking from him;