fainted. Nothing could
exceed the alarm and distress of poor Traverse. He hastened to fix her
in an easy position, bathed her face in vinegar and water, the only
restoratives in their meager stock, and called upon her by every loving
epithet to live and speak to him. The fit yielded to his efforts, and
presently, with a few fluttering inspirations, her breath returned and
her eyes opened. Her very first words were attempts to reassure her
dismayed boy. But Traverse could no more be flattered. He entreated his
mother to go at once to bed. And though the next morning, when she
arose, she looked not worse than usual, Traverse left home with a heart
full of trouble. But instead of turning down the street to go to his
work in the town he turned up the street toward the wooded hills beyond,
now glowing in their gorgeous autumn foliage and burning in the
brilliant morning sun.

A half-hour's walk brought him to a high and thickly wooded hill, up
which a private road led through a thicket of trees to a handsome
graystone country seat, situated in the midst of beautifully ornamented
grounds and known as Willow Heights, the residence of Dr. William Day, a
retired physician of great repute, and a man of earnest piety. He was a
widower with one fair daughter, Clara, a girl of fourteen, then absent
at boarding-school. Traverse had never seen this girl, but his one great
admiration was the beautiful Willow Heights and its worthy proprietor.
He opened the highly ornate iron gate and entered up an avenue of
willows that led up to the house, a two-storied edifice of graystone,
with full-length front piazzas above and below.

Arrived at the door he rang the bell, which was answered promptly by a
good-humored-looking negro boy, who at once showed Traverse to the
library up-stairs, where the good doctor sat at his books. Dr. Day was
at this time about fifty years of age, tall and stoutly built, with a
fine head and face, shaded by soft, bright flaxen hair and beard:
thoughtful and kindly dark-blue eyes, and an earnest, penetrating smile
that reached like sunshine the heart of any one upon whom it shone. He
wore a cheerful-looking flowered chintz dressing-gown corded around his
waist; his feet were thrust into embroidered slippers, and he sat in his
elbow-chair at his reading-table poring over a huge folio volume. The
whole aspect of the man and of his surroundings was kindly cheerfulness.
The room opened upon the upper front piazza, and t