nche, whom Wilkins had released from the negro's grasp, was weeping
on his bosom. With an effort, Arthur managed to pick himself up, and
slunk away into the shadows, leaving Blanche with her defenders.

From that night the bonds of sympathy were broken between the brothers;
and each trod his chosen path almost unheeded by the other.

"Tell me, Blanche," said Guly, as, rejoining Minny, they proceeded to
her grandfather's house, "how this happened. What took you away from the
sick-bed to be exposed to the craft of bad men?"

"Oh, I was so anxious and so unhappy," said Blanche, weeping bitterly,
"I feared grandpapa would die before any of you came. I left Lilah, the
little girl you sent me, Mr. Wilkins, to watch by grandpapa while I ran
down the piazza steps to see if you were coming. The moment I reached
the last step, that horrid negro threw his arm about me. I struggled and
tried to scream, but the other forced a gag in my mouth, and carried me
off. I gave myself up to die, but God sent you, dear Guly, to save me,
and you, Mr. Wilkins, for the second time. This same bad man has hung
about here for a week or more; but I have always tried to elude him,
because I believed him wicked, though he pretended to love me and all
that."

Guly shuddered as he felt it must have been Blanche of whom Arthur had
spoken a few evenings before; but he said nothing, and stood once more
in the little room where many times they had been so happy together. The
old man's easy chair was empty now, and from an inner room came low
faint moans of suffering.

Blanche hurried to the bedside, and stood bending over her grandfather,
weeping bitterly. It was evident his hours were numbered, and they all
gathered round, silent and tearful, to see the old man die. Blanche
stood on one side of the bed, with Minny by her side, and Guly and
Wilkins directly opposite. Slowly the breath came through those aged
lips, slow and faint. In his effort to get air, the dying man threw out
his arms upon the coverlet. His hands met those of Blanche and Guly, as
they rested on the bedside. It might have been accident, but the
trembling fingers clasped them tightly, and with a last effort folded
them together above him. There came a shiver, a faint moan, and the
grandsire was dead, with his chilling fingers still folding those two
young hands together.

There seemed to be no bounds to Blanche's grief, and it was with the
greatest difficulty she could be persuaded t