u
know, Reuben, what has befallen to make my father look as he did
but now? I trow it is something evil. My heart is heavy within me."

"Ay, I know," answered Reuben; "I will tell thee anon, sweet
mistress, if thou wilt let me into thy presence."

"Nay, call me not mistress," said Gertrude, with a little accent of
reproach in her voice. "Have we not played as brother and sister
together, and do not times like this draw closer the bonds of
friendship? Thou canst not know how lonesome and dreary my life has
been of late. I pine for a voice from the world without. Thou wilt
indeed be welcome, good Reuben."

Gertrude was busying herself with the tedious preparations for
obtaining a light, and being skilful by long practice, she soon had
a lamp burning in the room; and in a few minutes more, by the
diligent use of hammer and chisel, Reuben forced open the little
rough door which long ago had been contrived between the boys of
the two households, and which had not been done away with
altogether, although it had been securely fastened up by the orders
of Madam Mason when she found her son Frederick taking too great
advantage of this extra means of egress from the house, though she
had other motives than the one alleged for the checking of the
great intimacy which was growing up between her children and those
of her neighbour.

The door once opened, Reuben quickly stood within the attic, and
looked around him with wondering and admiring eyes.

"Nay, but it is a very bower of beauty!" he cried, and then he came
forward almost timidly and took Gertrude by the hand, looking down
at her with eyes that spoke eloquently.

"Is this thy nest, thou pretty songbird?" he said. "Had I known, I
should scarce have dared to invade it so boldly."

Gertrude clung to him with an involuntary appeal for protection
that stirred all the manhood within him.

"Ah, Reuben, tell me what it all means!" she cried, "for methinks
that something terrible has happened."

Still holding the little trembling hand in his, Reuben told her of
the peril her brother had been in. He spoke not of Dorcas, not
desiring to pain her more than need be, but he had to say that her
brother was, in a half-drunken state, pursuing some maiden in idle
sport, and that, having been so exposed to contagion, there was
great fear now for him and for his life.

Gertrude listened with pale lips and dilating eyes; her quick
apprehension filled up more of the details than Reu