wspapers; while the record of his humanity to a fallen foe contributed
to swell the tide of the old gentleman's affection.

On his return from Mexico, Henry's first care was to see his devoted
friend and guardian, and he accepted his pressing invitation to spend a
month at Bellevue.

As an inmate of her father's family, he was, of course, a constant
companion of Emily. Her radiant beauty had captivated his heart long ere
the month had expired; and he saw, or thought he saw, in the heart of
the fair girl, indications of a sympathetic sentiment. In the rashness
of his warm blood he had allowed himself to cherish a lively hope that
his dawning love was not entirely unrequited. He had seen that _his_
bouquet was more fondly cherished than the offerings of others; that
_his_ hand, as she alighted from the carriage, was more gladly received
than any other; that _his_ conversation never wearied her; in short,
there was in all their intercourse an unmistakable exponent of feelings
deeper than those of common friendship.

In the midst of this delighted existence,--while yet he revelled in the
pleasure of loving and being loved,--there came to him, like a dark
cloud over a clear sky, the unwelcome thought that it was wrong for him
to entangle the affections of his benefactor's daughter. He was a
beggar,--the object of her father's charity. Her prospects were
brilliant and certain, and he felt that he had no right to mar or
destroy them. He knew that she would love him none the less for his
poverty; but, probably, her father had already anticipated something
better than a beggar for his future son-in-law.

Poor Captain Carroll! The modesty of true greatness of soul had left
unconsidered the genuine nobility of the man. He thought not of the name
he had won on the field of battle,--of the honorable wounds he bore as
testimonials of his devotion to his country. He was poor, and, in the
despondency which his position induced, he attributed to wealth a value
which to the truly good it never possesses.

He loved Emily, and his poverty seemed to shut him out from the hallowed
field to which his heart fondly sought admission.

Henry Carroll was a high-minded man; he felt that to love the daughter
while the father's views were unknown to him would be rank ingratitude;
and ingratitude towards so good a man, so kind a benefactor, was
repugnant to every principle of his nature. There was but one path open
to him. If he could not help l