The breakfast was eaten in silence; the business of the day pursued in the same formal manner. Edgar avoided being alone with Roland, and the atmosphere of the whole house was stifling. Before closing the office, Roland begged for a few minutes conversation with Mr. Thornly. "I feel the terrible suspicion which rests upon me, Mr. Thornly; I cannot stay here, a suspected man; painful as the task is, I must go." "It is doubtless so; but, Mr. Bruce, I have placed unlimited confidence in you, sir; I know not what to think." "Your confidence has never been abused, sir; the day will come when my innocence shall be established; in the meanwhile, I can wait." "What will you do, sir, without a reference?" "I do not know; but you will not make the affair public? let me beg of you for many reasons not to do so." "I promise you not to do so; but do not send any one to me until the affair is cleared up, I cannot recommend you; it is all a mystery." "You are not going, Roland?" said Helen Thornly; "I can't bear to see you so insulted, so wronged." "Thank you, Miss Helen; but you must see that circumstances around me are very dark--I can only declare my innocence, and leave it all for Providence to proclaim my honor." "My father will be the loser, Roland; I have my own thoughts, and I will never rest until I find out the truth." "It has been a pleasant home, Miss Helen, but I must leave it; my dear mother left me a precious motto on her death-bed, 'Looking aloft.' It has comforted me in many a weary hour; it is my refuge now." "Packing up his clothes immediately, he took a respectful leave of all, thanking Mr. Thornly for all his kindness. "It will be right some day, Mr. Thornly; I can trust and wait," were Roland's last words. Out again upon the cold world, Roland deposited his clothes with his friend Richard Green, and, weary and sad, walked down to the Battery. He had not paced the bank long, when Madeline, in company with several gay young friends, passed by; her careless, joyous laugh jarred upon his lacerated feelings, and her ceremonious salutation completed the depression of that weary day. Could she have known the sorrow of that noble heart, would she have passed so coldly? No--although the poison of a letter received that day, from Lavinia Raymond, rankled in her proud young heart. Roland paced the bank until midnight--midnight around, and midnight within the tried young spirit; for faith could not grasp the promises at once, in that hour of anguish. CHAPTER XVI. RUGGED HILLS FOR WEARY FEET. Homeless once more, Roland sought an humble refuge, in the house of his friend, the good police officer. Aware of the difficulties which would beset his path, he shrank from encounters with the rough world; for what could one expect who had left an office like Mr. Thornly's suddenly, and could bring no reference?