ngest fascination for Thurston Willcoxen; he read eagerly
whatever was written of her; he listened with interest to whatever was
spoken of her. Her name! it was that of his loved and lost Marian!--that
in itself was a spell, but that was not the greatest charm--her
character resembled that of his Marian!

"How like my Marian?" would often be the language of his heart, when
hearing of her deeds. "Even so would my Marian have done--had she been
born to fortune, as this lady was."

The name was certainly common enough, yet the similarity of both names
and natures inclined him to the opinion that this angel-woman must be
some distant and more fortunate relative of his own lost Marian. He felt
drawn toward the unknown lady by a strong and almost irresistible
attraction; and he secretly resolved to see and know her, and pondered
in his heart ways and means by which he might, with propriety, seek her
acquaintance.

While thus he lived two lives--the outer life of work and usefulness,
and the inner life of thought and suffering--the young people of his
party, hoping and believing him to be enjoying the honors heaped upon
him, yielded themselves up to the attractions of society.

Miriam spent much of her time with her friend, Alice Murray.

One morning, when she called on Alice, the latter invited her visitor up
into her own chamber, and seating her there, said, with a mysterious
air:

"Do you know, Miriam, that I have something--the strangest thing that
ever was--that I have been wanting to tell you for three or four days,
only I never got an opportunity to do so, because Olly or some one was
always present? But now Olly has gone to court, and mother has gone to
market, and you and I can have a cozy chat to ourselves."

She stopped to stir the fire, and Miriam quietly waited for her to
proceed.

"Now, why in the world don't you ask me for my secret? I declare you
take so little interest, and show so little curiosity, that it is not a
bit of fun to hint a mystery to you. Do you want to hear, or don't you?
I assure you it is a tremendous revelation, and it concerns you, too!"

"What is it, then? I am anxious to hear?"

"Oh! you do begin to show a little interest; and now, to punish you, I
have a great mind not to tell you; however, I will take pity upon your
suspense; but first, you must promise never, never, n-e-v-e-r to mention
it again--will you promise?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, listen. Stop! get a good place to f