s of Dr. Prague's stately
mansion, in that fair western city. During his visit to the east the
preceding summer, he had succeeded in coaxing her away from Mr. Grey and
her aunt, to pass a few months with him, and cheer and enliven his
lonesome abode.

"No one could do this so well as Annie," he said, "always his pet and
darling; though his foolish, yielding old heart had been overruled by
others to treat her with wicked neglect, for which he now cursed
himself, and wanted opportunity to make amends."

So Annie kissed them all round, and went with him to pass a few months.
She had completed her prizes, and was now waiting to hear of their
reception. She had also contributed to the literary publications of the
city, and received a large share of flattery and applause; and, though
writing under a fictitious signature, her identity was well known in
private circles. Sumpter's villany and disgraceful end had effectually
destroyed his tale of her duplicity and artifice, and the highest
classes sought her friendship and society. The memory of former trial
and suffering stole over her sometimes, as she mingled again 'mid the
scenes of its enacting; but she was too wise and good to allow it to
rankle, or stir bitter feelings in her bosom. Let the past be forgotten
in the felicity of the present. Heaven had visited devouring vengeance
on the guilty ones. Let her bow in silence and adore!

It was evening. Annie sat on a low ottoman at the side of the infirm,
good-natured old Dr. Prague. A bright gas-light sparkled through a
wrought-glass shade above them, and a silver salver, containing some
golden oranges and pearl-handled knives, stood on a walnut stand near
by. A servant entered, bearing a package of papers.

"Here they are, dear uncle!" exclaimed Annie, springing forward to
receive them from the waiter's hand. "Now our evening's amusement can
commence;" and she passed him the dish of fruit, twirled the light a
little higher, and, drawing a stool close to his side, said, "Now what
shall I read first? The price of stocks, the list of deaths----"

"No, little babbler," said he, patting her curls playfully; "you know
what comes first of all. 'Woodland Winnie,' of course."

"Woodland Winnie is a silly little thing," remarked Annie.

"I'll be my own judge as to that, Miss Annie; please to read on."

"O, here is something from 'Alastor!'" she said, turning over the pages
of a new eastern magazine. "I do so love his writings;