“Certainly, I shall call to-morrow,” was his reply, as he sprang down the steps, and entering his sleigh, was driven back to Mr. Graham’s.

He found the company about dispersing, and meeting Ada in the hall, asked to accompany her home.  Ada’s pride for a moment hesitated, and then she answered in the affirmative.  When St. Leon had seated her in his sleigh he turned back, on pretext of looking for something, but in reality to ask Anna Graham where Ada lived, as he did not wish to question her on the subject.

When they were nearly home St. Leon said, “Miss Harcourt, have you always lived in S——?”

“We have lived here but two years,” answered Ada; and St. Leon continued: 

“I cannot rid myself of the impression that somewhere I have met you before.”

“Indeed,” said Ada, “when and where?”

But his reply was prevented by the sleigh’s stopping at Mrs. Harcourt’s door.  As St. Leon bade Ada good night he whispered, “I shall see you again.”

Ada made no answer, but going into the house where her mother was waiting for her, she exclaimed, “Oh, mother, mother, I’ve seen him!—­he was there!—­he brought me home!”

“Seen whom?” asked Mrs. Harcourt, alarmed at her daughter’s agitation.

“Why, Hugh St. Leon!” replied Ada.

“St. Leon in town!” repeated Mrs. Harcourt, her eye lighting up with joy.

’Twas only for a moment, however, for the remembrance of what she was when she knew St. Leon, and what she now was, recurred to her, and she said calmly, “I thought you had forgotten that childish fancy.”

“Forgotten!” said Ada bitterly; and then as she recalled the unkind remark of Lucy Dayton she burst into a passionate fit of weeping.

After a time Mrs. Harcourt succeeded in soothing her, and then drew from her all the particulars of the party, St Leon and all.  When Ada had finished her mother kissed her fair cheek, saying, “I fancy St. Leon thinks as much of little Ada now as he did six years ago;” but Ada could not think so, though that night, in dreams, she was again happy in her old home in the distant city, while at her side was St. Leon, who even then was dreaming of a childish face which had haunted him six long years.

CHAPTER IV.

LUCY.

We left Lizzie lying upon the sofa, where St. Leon had laid her.  After he was gone Lucy proposed calling their father and sending for a physician, but Lizzie objected, saying she should be better when she got warm.  During the remainder of that night Lucy sat by her sister’s bedside, while each cry of pain which came from Lizzie’s lips fell heavily upon her heart, for conscience accused her of being the cause of all this suffering.  At length the weary night watches were finished, but the morning light showed more distinctly Lizzie’s white brow and burning cheeks.  She had taken a severe cold, which had settled upon her lungs, and now she was paying the penalty of her first act of disobedience.