object in life was to secure a wealthy and distinguished husband.  Hitherto she had been unsuccessful, for the right one had not yet appeared.  Now, however, a new star was dawning on her horizon, in the person of Hugh St. Leon, of New Orleans.  His fame had preceded him, and half the village of S——­ were ready to do homage to the proud millionaire, who would make his first appearance at the Thanksgiving party.  This, then, was the reason why Lucy felt so anxious to be becomingly dressed, for she had resolved upon a conquest, and she felt sure of success.  She knew she was beautiful.  Her companions told her so, her mirror told her so, and her sweet sister Lizzie told her so more then twenty times a day.

Lizzie was four years younger than her sister, and wholly unlike her, both in personal appearance and disposition.  She had from childhood evinced a predisposition to the disease which had consigned her mother to an early grave.  On her fair, soft cheek the rose of health had never bloomed, and in the light which shone from her clear hazel eye, her fond father read but too clearly “passing away—­passing away.”

If there was in Lucy Dayton’s selfish nature any redeeming quality, it was that she possessed for her frail young sister a love amounting almost to adoration.  Years before, she had trembled as she thought how soon the time might come when for her sister’s merry voice she would listen in vain; but as month after month and year after year went by, and still among them Lizzie stayed, Lucy forgot her fears, and dreamed not that ere long one chair would be vacant—­that Lizzie would be gone.

Although so much younger than her sister, Lizzie, for more than a year, had been betrothed to Harry Graham, whom she had known from childhood.  Now, between herself and him the broad Atlantic rolled, nor would he return until the coming autumn, when, with her father’s consent, Lizzie would be all his own.

    Alas! alas! ere autumn came
      How many hearts were weeping
    For her who ’neath the willow’s shade
      Lay sweetly, calmly sleeping.

CHAPTER II.

THANKSGIVING DAY.

Slowly the feeble light of a stormy morning broke over the village of S——.  Lucy’s fears had been verified, for Thanksgiving’s dawn was ushered in by a fierce, driving storm.  Thickly from the blackened clouds the feathery flakes had fallen until the earth far and near was covered by a mass of white, untrodden snow.

Lucy had been awake for a long time, listening to the sad song of the wind, which swept howling by the casement.  At length, with an impatient frown at the snow which covered the window pane, she turned on her pillow, and tried again to sleep.  Her slumbers, however, were soon disturbed by her sister, who arose, and putting aside the curtain, looked out upon the storm, saying half-aloud, “Oh, I am sorry, for Lucy will be disappointed.”