Jack Darcy never experienced a more exultant pride in his strength than now. He lifted the helpless form, settled the swaying head on his broad shoulder, and, clasping the body tightly, picked his way through the slippery streets, in a manner that would have done credit to an Alp climber. Round this corner and that, to the quiet, deserted street, where every window was closed, and perhaps half the inmates in bed. Only in one house was there a sound of life. Some one was playing an accompaniment for an evening hymn, and youthful voices were singing. Two lines floated out as he passed, making a kind of glow on the sullen night:-- "Though long a wanderer, The sun gone down"-- Unconsciously he tightened his arms around this wanderer. Of course all their brief acquaintance had gone through his mind, especially the day when in her haughty pride and beauty she had given him that cold, insolent stare; but he forgave her freely, just as he had forgiven Fred's sin, unasked. How strangely he was destined to be mixed up with these Lawrences! He paused on the low porch, where a honeysuckle rioted in summer, and was still full of withered leaves. His burthen had not stirred, and was a dead weight. Resting it against his knee, he pulled the door-bell gently, and waited. "Is that you, Mr. Lawrence?" asked a voice from within. "No. Jack Darcy," for he guessed rightly that it was Martha. She opened the door. "Don't be frightened, Martha," in a re-assuring tone. "It is Miss Lawrence." "Oh, good heaven!" in tones of terror. "Hush! do not disturb any one. Is Mr. Lawrence home? Where shall I carry her? she is in a dead faint." "Bring her in the parlor. Oh, Mr. Darcy! where was she?" with a look of wild affright. "I did not know she had gone out. I always felt something would happen to her; and a long while ago I offered to go out with her, but she is so hard and disdainful that one soon comes to letting her alone. She made me promise not to tell her brother, or rather she defied me to: she wouldn't put any thing as a favor if she was dying. Talk about the pride of Lucifer! And I knew it would worry Mr. Lawrence dreadfully." "Was she in the habit of going out--alone--at night?" asked Jack, in amaze. "I think it was from pride," answered Martha simply. "You see, she needed some exercise, and she seldom went out in the daytime. And I don't think she is afraid of any thing. I never saw such a cold, bitter, strong girl--for she is only a girl yet. I've sometimes felt afraid she would do something desperate. Oh, if she would only let the Lord help her bear her trouble! And Mr. Lawrence is so kind and generous! He would do any thing for her. Oh, he ought to be home! There's the clock striking ten." "And I must run for the doctor. Heaven grant she may not be dead! Take off her cloak, and try something"--glancing about in alarm.