Bad Hugh

In blank amazement Mr. Stanley asked her what she meant, while Alice,

equally amazed, replied: "Surely, you have not forgotten me? Can I be

mistaken? I am the little girl whom Irving Stanley rescued from

drowning, when the St. Helena took fire, several years ago."

"I was never on a burning boat, never saw the St. Helena," was Mr.

Stanley's reply; and then for a moment the two regarded each other

intently, but Irving was the first to speak.

"It was Hugh," he said. "It must have been Hugh, for I remember now that

when he was a lad, or youth, his uncle sometimes called him Irving,

which is, I think, his middle name."

"Yes, Yes, H.I. Worthington. I've seen it written thus, but never

thought to ask what 'I.' was for. It was Hugh, and I mistook that old

man for his father. I understand it now," and Alice spoke hurriedly, her

fair face coloring with excitement as the truth flashed upon her that

she was Golden Hair.

Then the bright color faded away, and alarmed at the pallor which

succeeded it, Irving Stanley passed his arm supportingly around her,

asking if she were faint. Old Sam, moving away from the door, saw her as

she sat thus, but did not hear her reply: "It takes me so by surprise.

Poor Hugh, how he must have suffered."

She said this last more to herself than to Irving Stanley, who,

nevertheless, saw in it a meaning; and looking her earnestly in the

face, said to her: "Alice, you cannot be my wife, because your heart is

given to Hugh Worthington. Is it not so?"

Alice would not deceive him, and she answered, frankly: "It is," while

Irving replied: "I approve your choice, although it makes me very

wretched. You will be happy with him. Heaven bless you both."

He dared not trust himself to say another word, but hurrying from her

presence, sought the shelter of the woods, where alone he could school

himself to bear this terrible disappointment.

Hugh did not return until evening, and the first object he saw

distinctly as he galloped to the house, was Alice, sitting near to

Irving upon the pleasant piazza, just as it was natural that she should

sit. He did not observe that his mother was there with them; he did not

think of anything as he rode past them with nod and smile, save that

life henceforth was but a dreary, hopeless blank to him.

Leaving Rocket in Claib's care, he sauntered to the back piazza, where

Sam was sitting, and taking a seat beside him startled him by saying

that he should start on the morrow in quest of his missing sister.

"Yes, massah," was Sam's quiet reply, for he understood the reason of

this sudden journey.