TRAVERSE ROCKE.

"I must try to go. It will be an awful expense, because I know no one

down there, and I shall have to board at the tavern at Tip Top while I

am making inquiries--for I dare not approach the dwelling of Gabriel Le

Noir!" said Marah Rocke, as she folded up her letter and replaced it in

her bosom.

Just at that moment she heard the sound of wheels approach and a

vehicle of some sort draw up to the gate and some one speaking without.

She went to the door, and, listening, heard a girlish voice say: "A dollar? Yes, certainly; here it is. There, you may go now."

She recognized the voice, and with a cry of joy jerked the door open

just as the carriage rolled away. And the next instant Clara Day was in

her arms.

"Oh, my darling! my darling! my darling! is this really you? Really,

really you, and no dream?" cried Marah Rocke, all in a flutter of

excitement, as she strained Clara to her bosom.

"Yes, it is I, sweet friend, come to stay with you a long time,

perhaps." said Clara, softly, returning her caresses.

"Oh, my lamb! my lamb! what a joyful surprise! I do think I shall go

crazy! Where did you come from, my pet? Who came with you? When did you

start? Did Le Noir consent to your coming? And how did it all happen?

But, dear child, how worn and weary you look! You must be very tired!

Have you had supper? Oh, my darling, come and lie down on this soft

lounge while I put away your things and get you some refreshment," said

Marah Rocke, in a delirium of joy, as she took off Clara's hat and sack

and laid her down to rest on the lounge, which she wheeled up near the

fire.

"Oh, my sweet, we have been so anxious about you! Traverse and myself!

Traverse is still at St. Louis, love, getting on slowly. He has written

to you every week, and so, indeed have I, but we neither of us have had

so much as one letter in reply. And yet neither of us ever doubted your

true heart, my child. We knew that the letters must have been lost,

miscarried or intercepted," said Marah, as she busied herself putting

on the tea-kettle.

"They must, indeed, since my experience in regard to letters exactly

corresponds with yours! I have written every week to both of you, yet

never received one line in reply from either," said Clara.




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