grown so long I'm half afraid of them; but
come, I'll find them for you;" and the child, diverted from her tears,
seized her brother's hand to lead him forth in search of her playmates.
They were soon found, and after admiring and caressing them a few
moments, Wayland left his sister to frolic with them on the lawn, and
returned to his mother's side.

They had a long, confidential conversation, in which the son imparted to
his affectionate parent a brief history of the past eight months. She
listened with eager interest to the rehearsal. When he mentioned Alice
Orville, she regarded his countenance with a fixed, searching
expression, and a faint smile stole over her pale, sad face; but when he
breathed the name of Camford, she started convulsively, and demanded his
Christian name.

"Adolphus," answered Wayland, in amaze at her emotion. "He is Miss
Orville's uncle, and the wealthiest merchant in New Orleans."

"'Tis the same," she murmured; "you were too young, my son, when your
father died, to have any recollection of the events which preceded his
death; but you have heard from me that he was hurried out of the world
by temporal misfortunes too great for his delicate, sensitive
temperament to endure. The sudden descent from affluence to poverty bore
him to the grave. And I have told you, Wayland, that by the hand of one
man, all this woe and suffering was brought upon us."

"And who was that man, dear mother?" asked the youth, in an agitated
voice.

"Adolphus Camford," answered she, trembling as she spoke the fatal name.

"Is it possible?" exclaimed Wayland, starting to his feet. "Then may the
son avenge the father!"

"Stop, my boy," said his mother; "I intended this revelation but as a
caution for you against your father's destroyer. 'Vengeance is mine, I
will repay,' saith the Lord. Promise that you will remember this,
Wayland, or I cannot die in peace."

"I promise, mother," said the young man, bowing at the bed-side, and
leaning his head tenderly on her bosom.

CHAPTER V.

"If there is anything I hate on earth,
It is a ranting, tattling, prattling jade,
Who gossips all day long, and fattens on
Her neighbors' foibles, and at night lies down
To dream some ghostly tale, and rises soon
To bawl it through the town as good and true."

Hast ever attended a Ladies' Sewing Circle, reader, and wit