nny's words of love and encouragement. From the first she
had stood bravely by him refusing to leave the house until all was
over; and many a weary night, when the great city was hushed and
still, a light had gleamed from the apartment where, with her father,
she sat looking over his papers, and trying to ascertain as far as
possible, to what extent he was involved. It was she who first
suggested the giving up of every thing; and when Henry, less upright
than his noble sister, proposed the withholding of a part, she firmly
answered, "No, father don't do it. You have lost your property, but do
not lose your self-respect."

Always cheerful, and sometimes even gay in his presence, she had
succeeded in imbuing him with a portion of her own hopeful spirit, and
he passed through the storm far better than he could otherwise have
done. Mrs. Campbell's visit to the house was prompted partly from
curiosity, and partly from a desire to take away Jenny, who was quite
a favorite with her.

"Come, my dear," said she, pushing back the short, thick curls which
clustered around Jenny's forehead, "you must go home with me. This is
no place for you. Mary will go too," she continued; and then on an
"aside" to Mary, she added, "I want you to cheer up Ella; she sits
alone in her room, without speaking or noticing me in any way."

At first Jenny hesitated, but when William whispered that she had
better go; and Mrs. Campbell, as the surest way of bringing her to a
decision, said, "Mr. Bender will oblige me by coming to tea," she
consented, and closely veiled, passed through the crowd below, who
instinctively drew back, and ceased speaking, for wherever she was
known, Jenny was beloved. Arrived at Mrs. Campbell's, they found Ella,
as her mother had said, sitting alone in her room, not weeping, but
gazing fixedly down the street, as if expecting some one who did not
come!

In reply to Jenny's anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, Mary
frankly told all, and then Jenny, folding her arms around the young
girl, longed to tell her how unworthy was the object of such love. But
Henry was her brother, and she could not. Softly caressing Ella's
cheek, she whispered to her of brighter days which perhaps would come.
The fact that it was _his_ sister--Henry's sister--opened anew the
fountain of Ella's tears, and she wept for a long time; but it did her
good, and for the remainder of the afternoon she seemed more cheerful,
and inclined to convers