face, into which already the warm hue of health was creeping! A
heavy sigh escaped him as he noted each perfection of outline. Who was
this lovely stranger? And what could she be to him?

"Why was I ever such a dupe?" he said in his heart. "Fettered--fettered
for life!"

But suddenly realizing that except in his professional capacity he had
no right thus to intrude upon her slumbers, the young physician turned
from the enchanting picture.

"How is she now, sir?" respectfully inquired the housekeeper.

"Fairly well," he replied cheerfully; "I do not think she is hurt,
except a few bruises, which we must look after. She was thrown pretty
hard against that tree. To-morrow she will be able to give an account of
herself. We can do nothing toward finding her friends before that time.
Call, if she should become restless," and the young man retired to his
own apartment, there to ponder deeply, as he had never before pondered
in his life.

Some days later the following letter was posted by Weldon Gardner:

NEW YORK, September 20, 1879.

"My Dear Aunt:--

"Your kind letter reminds me that never, in all these years of boyhood
grown ripe, has duty come to me in as repulsive a form as now, I tell
you, shocked as you may feel when you read the words, that I would
rather put a bullet through my head than meet Evelyn Howard at this
time! Why couldn't she stay in England? And what cursed folly induced
my parents to thus bind me for life to one I had never seen? True, I
submitted. But you know with what an appeal my dying mother besought
my compliance, and what could I do? I cared for no one else. How was
I to foresee that the tie would ever be so intensely galling?

"I know all that you would say about honor, manhood, and all the
category of virtues. I know them all. Nor am I willing to act the
scoundrel just yet. But I must have time; I can _not_ marry that
girl now. Nor will I consent to meet her yet. Let her think I am out
of town, sick, busy, _dead_; anything, till I can screw my courage
to the sticking point.

"About the balloon tragedy--yes, you heard correctly of my figuring
in the matter. The girl is Miss Lina Dent, of Brooklyn, and I am
happy to report that she is entirely recovered, though deeply afflicted
at the fearful death of her friends. It seems that they had, in a
spirit of fun, gone up in the balloon, feeling confident that their
adventure was, to say the least,