Feels something lacking, to make good his loss
He'll turn to Helen, and her gentle grace
And loving acts will win her soon the place
I hold to-day; and like a troubled dream
At length, our past, when he looks back, will seem."

That evening passed with music, chat, and song,
But hours that once had flown on airy wings
Now limped on weary, aching limbs along,
Each moment like some dreaded step that brings
A twinge of pain.
As Vivian rose to go,
Slow bending to me from his greater height,
He took my hand, and, looking in my eyes,
With tender questioning and pained surprise,
Said, "Maurine, you are not yourself to-night;
What is it? Are you ailing?"
"Ailing? No,"
I answered, laughing lightly, "I am not;
Just see my cheek, sir--is it thin, or pale?
Now, tell me, am I looking very frail?"
"Nay, nay," he answered, "it cannot be SEEN,
The change I speak of--'twas more in your mien -
Preoccupation, or--I know not what!
Miss Helen, am I wrong, or does Maurine
Seem to have something on her mind this eve?"
"She does," laughed Helen, "and I do believe
I know what 'tis! A letter came to-day
Which she read slyly, and then hid away
Close to her heart, not knowing I was near,