s voice rang through the house.

"Irene! the carriage is coming up the avenue."

She went slowly downstairs, followed by Paragon, and joined her father at
the door. His searching look discovered nothing in the serene face; the
carriage stopped, and he hastened to meet his nephew.

"Come at last, eh! Welcome home, my dear boy."

The young man turned from his uncle, sprang up the steps, then paused, and
the cousins looked at each other.

"Well, Hugh! I am very glad to see you once more."

She held out her hands, and he saw at a glance that her fingers were
unfettered. Seizing them warmly, he bent forward; but she drew back coldly,
and he exclaimed--

"Irene! I claim a warmer welcome."

She made a haughty, repellent gesture, and moved forward a few steps, to
greet the stranger who accompanied him.

"My daughter, this is your uncle, Eric Mitchell, who has not seen you since
you were a baby."

The party entered the house, and, seated beside him, Irene gazed with
mingled emotions of pain and pleasure upon her mother's only brother. He
was about thirty, but looked older from life-long suffering; had used
crutches from the time he was five years of age, having been hopelessly
crippled by a fall during his infancy. His features were sharp, his cheeks
wore the sallow hue of habitual ill-health, and his fine grey eyes were
somewhat sunken. Resting his crutches against the sofa, he leaned back, and
looked long and earnestly at his niece. Very dimly he remembered a fair,
flaxen-haired baby whom the nurse had held out to be kissed when he was
sent to Philadelphia to be treated for his lameness; soon after he heard of
his sister's death, and then his tutor took him to Europe, to command the
best medical advice of the old world.

"From the faint recollection which I have of your mother, I think you
strongly resemble her," he said at last in a fond, gentle tone.

"I don't know about that, Eric. She is far more of a Huntingdon than a
Mitchell. She has many of the traits of your family, but in appearance she
certainly belongs to my side of the house. She very often reminds me of
Hugh's mother."

Conversation turned upon the misfortune of the cripple; he spoke freely of
the unsuccessful experiments made by eminent physicians, of the
hopelessness of his case; and Irene was particularly impressed by the
calmness and patience with which he seemed to have resigned himself to this
great affliction. She felt irresistibly drawn tow