house. "I hear the Citadel clock striking ten. I must spend the
morning with Lizzie." Then donning the light Leghorn hat that gave
her a gypsy-like appearance, she started forth toward Rev. Dr.
Heartwell's unpretentious house. As she passed block and square that
marked the distance, her heart was heavy and her thoughts were
sorrowful. She realized that it was perhaps her final leave--taking
of her most cherished friend. Her path led past the walls of the
dark, gray citadel, and as she cast a glance up toward its turreted
heights, and its prison-like windows, she sighed a deep-drawn,
heart-felt sigh. And why?

The gentle sea-breeze had arisen, and though it sported with the
helpless ribbon upon her bosom, and kissed again and again the
crimson cheeks, it could not cool the fires of anxiety and sorrow
that burned within her heart. She felt that she was losing much in
losing Lizzie Heartwell. And the fear was not an idle one.

Trembling with fatigue and deep-hidden emotion, Leah at length stood
at the door of Dr. Heartwell's house, awaiting the answer of the
porter.

The door opened. "M-m-miss L-l-lizzie s-s-says c-c-come right u-up
stairs, M-m-iss M-m-ordecai," stuttered out the polished black
Hannibal who attended the door, known throughout the large circle of
Dr. Heartwell's friends and acquaintances as a most accomplished
servant and a most miserable stammerer.

"Very well; please show me the way," replied Leah, repressing a
smile.