"Is it you, Horace?" said she. "I am away to-morrow."

"So I have heard. Are you going to live with your uncle?"

"Oh no. I am coming home in less than a week."

"I am sorry you are going."

"Are you?"

"I am afraid you will not want to come home."

"Why Horace!"

"Come back as soon as you can."

"I will."

"Good-by!" He extended his trembling hand, and received one still more
trembling. It was carried to his lips. Another good-by was uttered, and he
was gone.

It was well for Susan that her uncle was not sitting in his own brilliantly
lighted parlor when, with blushing cheek and trembling hand, she handed him
the glass of water. In the dim light of a single candle, her agitation
passed unnoticed.

In the morning, after oil-repeated farewells, and amid tears not wholly
divorced from smiles, Susan set out on her journey, and, on the following
day, arrived at the busy mart where souls are exchanged for gold, and