Bad Hugh

In this escape Anna was particularly interested, as it had helped to

make her the delicate creature she was, for since the morning when she

had knelt at her proud father's feet, and begged him to revoke his cruel

decision, and say she might be the bride of a poor missionary, Anna had

greatly changed, and the father, ere he died, had questioned the

propriety of separating the hearts which clung so together. But the

young missionary had married another, and neither the parents nor the

sisters ever forgot the look of anguish which stole into Anna's face,

when she heard the fatal news. She had thought herself prepared, but the

news was just as crushing when it came, accompanied, though it was with

a few last lines from him. Anna kept this letter yet, wondering if the

missionary remembered her yet, and if they would ever meet again.

This was the secret of the missionary papers scattered so profusely through

the rooms at Terrace Hill. Anna was interested in everything pertaining

to the work, though, it must be confessed, that her mind wandered

oftenest to the banks of the Bosphorus, the City of Mosques and

Minarets, where he was laboring. Neither the mother, nor Asenath, nor

Eudora ever spoke to her of him, and so his name was never heard at

Terrace Hill, unless John mentioned it, as he sometimes did, drawing

comical pictures of what Anna would have been by this time had she

married the missionary.

Anna only laughed at her wild brother's comments, telling him once to

beware, lest he, too, follow her example, and was guilty of loving some

one far beneath him. John Richards had spurned the idea. The wife who

bore his name should be every way worthy of a Richards. This was John's

theory, nursed and encouraged by mother and sisters, the former charging

him to be sure and keep his heart from all save the right one. Had he

done so?

A peep at the family as on the day of his expected arrival from Paris

they sat waiting for him will enlighten us somewhat. Taken as a whole,

it was a very pleasant family group, which sat there waiting for the

foreign lion, waiting for the whistle of the engine which was to herald

his approach.

"I wonder if he has changed," said the mother, glancing at the opposite

mirror and arranging the puffs of glossy false hair which shaded her

aristocratic forehead.

"Of course he has changed somewhat," returned Miss Asenath, rubbing

together her white, bony hands, on one of which a costly diamond was

flashing. "Nearly two years of Paris society must have imparted to him

that air distingué so desirable in a young man who has traveled."