determined to know who lived there. When she undertook
to ferret out anything, she bent her whole energies to it.
As Michael Angelo, who subjected all things to his pursuit
and the idea he had formed of it, painted the crucifixion
by the side of a writhing slave and would have broken up
the true cross for pencils, so Mrs. Miller would have entered
the sepulchre, if she could have done it, in search of an object
she wished to find.

The full moon had risen, and was pouring its beams upon
surrounding objects as Henry stepped from Isabella's door,
and looking at his watch, said,--

"I must go, dear; it is now half-past ten."

Had little Clotelle been awake, she too would have been at the door.
As Henry walked to the gate, Isabella followed with her left hand locked
in his. Again he looked at his watch, and said,--

"I must go."

"It is more than a year since you staid all night,"
murmured Isabella, as he folded her convulsively in his arms,
and pressed upon her beautiful lips a parting kiss.

He was nearly out of sight when, with bitter sobs,
the quadroon retraced her steps to the door of the cottage.
Clotelle had in the mean time awoke, and now inquired
of her mother how long her father had been gone.
At that instant, a knock was heard at the door, and supposing