At that moment a step was heard in the dining-room, and both Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy flew to wait upon the new-comer who proved to be Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer.  As he took his seat at the table the Connecticut clock on the mantelpiece struck ten.

At eleven o’clock that same morning Mr. Sawyer knocked at the front door of Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill’s residence.  How strange it seemed, how much more homelike it would have been to have entered by the back door and to have come through the kitchen and dining-room, as of old.  But no!  He was not a regular boarder now, only an occasional visitor.

The door was opened by young Mrs. Maxwell, and her usually rosy cheeks were ruddier than ever when she saw who the caller was.

“Is Miss Pettengill in?” Quincy politely inquired.

“She’s in the parlor, sir; won’t you walk in?” And she threw open the door of the room in which Alice sat by the fire.

“Do I disturb your dreams, Miss Pettengill?” asked Quincy, as he reached her side.

“I’m so glad you have come, Mr. Sawyer,” said Alice, extending her hand.  “I never was so lonesome in my life as I have been this morning.  The house seems deserted.  Uncle Ike ate too many good things yesterday, and says he is enjoying an attack of indigestion to-day.  I had Swiss in here to keep me company, but he wouldn’t stay and Mandy had to let him out.”

“He came up to Mrs. Hawkins’s,” said Quincy, as he took his accustomed seat opposite Alice.  “He walked down with me, but when he saw me safe on the front doorstep he disappeared around the corner.”

“I didn’t tell him to go after you,” said Alice, laughing; “but I am very glad that you have come.  I have a very important matter to consult you about.  You know you are my business man now.”

“I’m always at your service,” replied Quincy.  “I think I know what you wish to see me about.”

“And what do you think it is?” asked Alice, shaking her head negatively.

“Well,” said Quincy, “I saw Squire Rundlett the day before the weddings and he thought that you might possibly want some money.  He had a thousand dollars in cash belonging to you, and I brought you half of it.  If you will kindly sign this receipt,” he continued, as he took a small parcel from his pocket, “you will relieve me of further responsibility for its safe keeping.”

He moved the little writing table close to her chair, and dipping the pen in the ink he handed it to her, and indicated with his finger the place where she should sign.  She wrote as well as ever, though she could see nothing that she penned.

“There are eight fifty-dollar bills, eight tens and four fives,” he said, as he passed her the money.

“Which are the fifties?” she asked, as she handled the money nervously with her fingers.

“Here they are,” said Quincy, and he separated them from the rest of the bills and placed them in her hands.