n
the little shoe of which she had spoken. He must ask her that at once. And
how he yearned to search her face, with one long, scrutinising gaze!

At last she came, radiant, as usual! Did he notice that a slight shyness
veiled her face, and that there was an unusual tremor in her voice as she
wished him "good morning"? If "Cobbler" Horn perceived these signs, he
paid them but scant regard. He was too much absorbed in his own thoughts,
to consider what those of his young secretary might be; and he was too
busily engaged in scrutinising the permanent features of her face, to give
much heed to its transient expression. What he saw did not greatly assist
in the settlement of the question which occupied his mind. And small
wonder that it should be so; for, when he had last seen his Marian, she
was a little girl of five.

No less eagerly than "Cobbler" Horn scanned the countenance of his young
secretary, did her eyes, that morning, seek his face. She too had passed a
broken night. But it had not seemed wearisome or long. Happy thoughts had
rendered sleep an impertinence at first; and, when healthy youthful nature
had, at length, asserted itself, the young girl had slept only in pleasant
snatches, waking every now and then from some delicious dream, to assure
herself that the sweetest dream could not be half so delightful as the
glad reality which had come into her life.

If these two people could have read each other's thoughts---- But
that might not be. She wished him "good morning," in her own bright way;
and he responded with his usual benignant smile. Then they proceeded to
business. There was one very important letter, which demanded some
expenditure of time. The secretary was not altogether herself. Her hand
trembled a little, and there was a slight quaver in her voice. Her
employer noticed these signs of discomposure, and spoke of them in his
kindly way.

"Surely you are not well this morning!" he said, placing his hand lightly
on her wrist.

His secretary was usually so self-possessed.

"Oh yes," she said, with a start, "I am quite well--quite."

She smiled at the very idea of her not being well, knowing what she did.

"Come and sit down beside me for a little while," said "Cobbler" Horn,
when their business was finished; "and let us have some talk."

It was the ordinary invitation; but there was something unusual in the
tone of his voice. As the young girl took her seat at the bedside, her
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