for you so often, that I had almost despaired. Whenever I walk down
Broadway, whenever I go out anywhere, I look at every face, peep into
every bonnet, hoping to find you. Oh! I am so glad. Do come and see me
soon--soon. I must go now--I promised."

"Where do you live? I will go home with you now."

"I am not going home immediately. Mr. Clifton's house is No. 85, West ----
Street. Come this afternoon."

With a long, warm pressure of hands they parted, and Irene stood looking
after the graceful figure till it glided out of sight.

"In the name of wonder, who is that? You two have been the 'observed of all
observers,'" ejaculated the impulsive Louisa.

"That is my old schoolmate and friend of whom I once spoke to you. I had no
idea that she was in New York. She is a poor orphan."

"Are you ready to return home? This episode has evidently driven pictures
out of your head for to-day," said Mr. Young, who had endeavoured to screen
her from observation.

"Yes, quite ready to go, though I have enjoyed the morning very much
indeed, thanks to your kindness."

Soon after they reached home, Louisa was called into the parlour to see a
young friend, and as Mrs. Young was absent, Irene found it rather lonely
upstairs. She thought of a new volume of travels which she had noticed on
the hall-table as they entered, and started down to get it. About half-way
of the flight of steps she caught her foot in the carpeting, where one of
the rods chanced to be loose, and despite her efforts to grasp the railing
fell to the floor of the hall, crushing one arm under her. The library-door
was thrown open instantly, and the minister came out. She lay motionless,
and he bent over her.

"Irene! where are you hurt? Speak to me."

He raised her in his arms and placed her on the sofa in the sitting-room.
The motion produced great pain, and she groaned and shut her eyes. A
crystal vase containing some exquisite perfume stood on his mother's
work-table, and, pouring a portion of its contents in his palm, he bathed
her forehead. Acute suffering distorted her features, and his face grew
pallid as her own while he watched her. Taking her hand, he repeated--

"Irene, my darling! tell me how you are hurt?"

She looked at him, and said with some difficulty--

"My ankle pains me very much, and I believe my arm is broken. I can't move
it."

"Thank God you are not killed."

He kissed her, then turned away and despatched a servant for a physician