The young man had proceeded only a few paces when he observed his old friend and companion, Charles Williams, driving along towards him.  No one had done so much towards corrupting his morals, and enticing him away from virtue, as that individual.  But he had checked himself in his course of dissipation, long before, while Alfred had sunk rapidly downward.  Years had passed since any intercourse had taken place between them, for their condition in life had long been as different as their habits.  Charles had entered into business with his father, and was now active and enterprising, increasing the income of the firm by his energy and industry.

His eye rested upon Graham, the moment he came near enough to observe him.  There was something familiar about his gait and manner, that attracted the young man’s attention.  At first, he did not distinguish, through the disguise that sickness and self-imposed poverty had thrown over Alfred, his old companion.  But, suddenly, as he was about passing, he recognised him, and instantly reined up his horse.

“It is only a few minutes since I was thinking about you, Alfred,” he said.  “How are you?  But you do not look well.  Have you been sick?”

“I have been very ill, lately,” Alfred Graham replied, in a mournful tone; former thoughts and feelings rushing back upon him in consequence of this unexpected interview, and quite subduing him.

“I am really sorry to hear it,” the young man said, sympathizingly.  “What has been the matter?”

“A slow fever.  This is the first time I have been out for weeks.”

“A ride, then, will be of use to you.  Get up, and let me drive you out into the country.  The pure air will benefit you, I am sure.”

For a moment or two, Alfred stood irresolute.  He could not believe that he had heard aright.

“Come,” urged Williams.  “We have often ridden before, and let us have one more ride, if we should never go out again together.  I wish to have some talk with you.”

Thus urged, Alfred, with the assistance of Charles Williams, got up into the light wagon, in which the latter was riding, and in a moment after was dashing off with him behind a spirited horse.

It was on the morning of a day, nearly a week previous to this time, that Mary Williams, or rather Mrs. Harwood,—­for Anna and Mary Graham’s old friend had become a married woman—­entered the store of Mrs.—­on Chestnut-street, for the purchase of some goods.

While one of the girls in attendance was waiting upon her, she observed a young woman, neatly, but poorly clad, whom she had often seen there before, come in, and go back to the far end of the store.  In a little while, Mrs.—­joined her, and received from her a small package, handing her some money in return, when the young woman retired, and walked quickly away.  This very operation Mrs. Harwood had several times seen repeated before, and each time she had felt much interested in the timid and retiring stranger, a glance at whose face she had never been able to gain.