Mr. Horton was formerly from Philadelphia, and an intimate friend of Charles Hunter’s father, who was a sea captain, and being shipwrecked during one of his voyages, was conveyed in a pitiful condition to the house of Mr. Horton, and thus commenced an ardent friendship, to be ended only by death.

The nuptials of Charles and Ellen were looked forward to with great interest, by both families.  Especially, was Mrs. Hunter, much pleased, as she was an invalid, and had no daughter.

But evening came—­bright, beautiful evening, and with it came bright, beautiful eyes—­bright, beautiful faces, and all was gaiety and joyousness, In the brilliantly illuminated parlors of Mr. Horton.  Henriette, yielding to the wishes of Ellen and her mother, and the express commands of Mr. Horton, consented to join the party.  She entered the room with the dignity of a queen; but the scornful toss of many a young head, and the averted gaze of many a familiar eye, brought the deep blush of wounded feelings to her cheek, ere she reached her seat.  As she raised her eyes she met those of Henry Lorton fixed upon her, with an expression that her woman’s intuitive sense easily read.

They had frequently met before, but had never formed any acquaintance.

Each one was winning a name.  Henry Lorton had made rapid advancement in his profession, and stood high in the estimation of his fellow men, for honesty and integrity of principle.

Many a match-making mother would gladly have entrapped him for her daughter, and many a daughter, perchance, might have accepted his hand, had it been offered, but it was not.  No one could elicit anything beyond politeness from him.

He turned to a dark-eyed beauty, who sat beside him, asking her if she was acquainted with Miss Clinton.

She blushed, stammered,

“Why, no; I am not now—­that is, I used to be when she went into society, that is before her father’s death—­before she was a dress-maker.”

Henry turned away, disgusted with this indefinite intelligence.  For a moment a slight smile of scorn rested upon his lip, and a darker expression shaded his countenance; but it lingered not.  The usual happy smile returned again, and holy charity came back to his heart.

The evening passed sadly to Henriette.  She was with her dear schoolmates—­the friends of her early days, and her heart yearned for the dear familiar tones that then fell upon her ear, and in spite of her every effort, the tear trickled down her cheek.  She turned to the window, and looked out upon the blue waters and the grey sides of the lofty mountain, that seemed looking down upon her in sympathy, like the Mighty Power that created it.

She was roused from her reverie by the voice of Ellen, who presented Mr. Lorton, he having earnestly solicited an introduction.  They conversed pleasantly upon the beauties of the surrounding scenery, and before the party broke up he requested permission to visit her at her boarding house, the next evening.