g
something from that quarter.

Arthur had already searched every pocket for the change, which he felt
certain was there the day before; but, to his utter astonishment, it was
all gone, together with a very beautiful portemonnaie his mother had
given him when he left her, and in which, the day before, he had placed
two ten dollar bills, for the purpose of sending home when he should
write.

He knew he could not have spent it all in yesterday's rout, and the
conviction forced itself painfully upon his mind that he had been
robbed.

As the mendicant held forth his cap, he shook his head, and showed his
empty hands, at which movement the old man raised his eyebrows
inquisitively, and muttered a most disagreeable and chuckling "Hih! hih!
hih! hih!" He then picked out the dime with trembling fingers, and
slipped it quickly into some unseen deposit about his person; then, with
one more lift of his grey brows, adjusted his crutches, and swung
himself away.

The brothers gazed after the receding figure, until the mist entirely
obscured it, and the skirts of the long coat could no longer be heard
trailing on the pavement; then, again linking their arms, proceeded on
their way.

Although Guly dwelt wonderingly upon the incident they had just met
with, Arthur maintained a moody silence; nor could aught that his
brother said, direct his thoughts from the new course the recent event
had turned them upon.

The time had been, when the loss he had met with would have been
regarded as one of no importance whatever; but he felt now, and deeply
felt, that it was more than he could afford to spend foolishly, more
than even his generous impulses would have allowed him to charitably
dispose of, and more by far than he could patiently submit to be
defrauded of. As he thought thus, his good resolutions of the morning in
a measure melted away before his indignant resentment, and vague plans
were floating through his mind, as to how he might and would recover it,
the bearing he should feel called upon to assume when next he met Mr.
Clinton, &c., &c. To tell Guly of the loss he had sustained, after some
reflection, he decided was out of the question. True, he had been gentle
and forbearing with regard to all that had passed, but he would not
reveal this new discovery to him--perhaps dreading more the rebuking
silence of those loving lips, than the stormy reproaches he might have
met with from another source.

Guly had seen that nothing