In her quiet home at Melrose, Lizzie Heartwell was confronting daily
the stern duties of life amid a bevy of bright-eyed little scholars,
wearing with easy grace the dignity of school-mistress.

Helen Le Grande, a bright fresh blonde in school days, had blossomed
into a fair, beautiful, fashionable belle, as devoted to society as
society was devoted to her.

Bertha Levy, roguish and merry-hearted as ever, had been sent abroad
to complete her education in Berlin--"To sober her down, and try and
break her spirit," as she wrote in a letter to Lizzie.

It was only the life of Leah Mordecai that apparently was marked by
no change. She was older by a few years-that was all the world saw
of change in her life. To strangers' eyes, she was still pursuing
the even tenor of her life, still wearing the melancholy expression,
and still envied by many for her wealth and beauty. The eyes of the
world could not read the impoverished heart that throbbed within her
bosom.

On first leaving college, Emile Le Grande intended to study law, and
for months endeavored to concentrate his mind upon the prosaic,
practical teachings of Blackstone. The effort proved unsuccessful,
and then procuring employment in a well-established banking house,
he applied himself to business with commendable assiduity. Yet alive
in his heart was the passion so long nourished for the beautiful
Jewess. He still lost no opportunity of assuring her again and again
of his unchanging devotion, and constantly endeavored, by tenderest
utterances of love, to gain the promise of her hand.