t he ventured to speak again, and asked, "Did _I_ frighten you?"

"You!" replied she, in a low and somewhat unsteady voice. "Oh no! you
are very kind."

"I am sorry you are so disturbed," said he; "those little cars are
troublesome things; I wish they'd put a stop to them."

"The car!" said Gertrude, in an absent way; "oh, yes, I forgot."

"You are a little nervous, I fear; can't you get Dr. Jeremy to prescribe
for you?"

"The doctor! He went back for his cane, I believe."

Mr. Phillips saw that she was bewildered. He forbore any conversation,
and they continued their walk to the hotel in silence. Just before
leaving her he said, in a tone of the deepest interest, as he held her
hand for a moment at parting, "Can I do anything for you? Can I help
you?"

Gertrude looked up at him. She saw that he understood that she was
unhappy, not nervous. Her eyes thanked him as they glistened behind a
shower of tears. "No, no," gasped she, "but you are very good;" and she
hastened into the house, leaving him gazing at the door, as if she was
still in sight and he were watching her.

Gertrude's first thought was how she might best conceal all her fears,
and especially from Miss Graham any knowledge of her grief. That she
would receive sympathy from Emily there could be no doubt; but as she
loved her benefactress, did she shrink from any disclosure which was
calculated to lessen Willie Sullivan in the estimation of one in whose
opinion she was anxious that he should sustain the high place to which
her own praises had exalted him. The chief knowledge that Emily had of
Willie was derived from Gertrude, and with a mingled feeling of
tenderness for him and pride on her own account did the latter dread to
disclose the fact that he had returned, and that she had met him at
Saratoga, and that he had passed her carelessly by.

It was very hard for her to appear as usual and elude the vigilance of
Emily, who was keenly alive to every sensation experienced by Gertrude.

Gertrude's love for Willie was undying, and she could not think that he
would attach himself to one so worldly, vain, and selfish as Isabel
Clinton. True, she was the daughter of Willie's early and generous
employer, now the senior partner in the mercantile house to which he
belonged, and would be expected to pay her every polite attention; but
still Gertrude could not but feel a greater sense of estrangement, a
chilling presentiment of sorrow, from seeing him thus fam