nd
moving continually in the society of young women of his own station,
the young man felt that Isabella was a burden to him, and having as
some would say, "outgrown his love," he longed to free himself of the
responsibility; yet every time he saw the child, he felt that he owed it
his fatherly care.

Henry had now entered into political life, and been elected to a seat
in the legislature of his native State; and in his intercourse with his
friends had become acquainted with Gertrude Miller, the daughter of a
wealthy gentleman living near Richmond. Both Henry and Gertrude were
very good-looking, and a mutual attachment sprang up between them.

Instead of finding fault with the unfrequent visits of Henry, Isabella
always met him with a smile, and tried to make both him and herself
believe that business was the cause of his negligence. When he was with
her, she devoted every moment of her time to him, and never failed to
speak of the growth and increasing intelligence of Clotelle.

The child had grown so large as to be able to follow its father on his
departure out to the road. But the impression made on Henry's feelings
by the devoted woman and her child was momentary. His heart had grown
hard, and his acts were guided by no fixed principle. Henry and Gertrude
had been married nearly two years before Isabella knew anything of the
event, and it was merely by accident that she became acquainted with the
facts.

One beautiful afternoon, when Isabella and Clotelle were picking wild
strawberries some two miles from their home, and near the road-side,
they observed a one-horse chaise driving past. The mother turned her
face from the carriage not wishing to be seen by strangers, little
dreaming that the chaise contained Henry and his wife. The child,
however, watched the chaise, and startled her mother by screaming out
at the top of her voice, "Papa! papa!" and clapped her little hands for
joy. The mother turned in haste to look at the strangers, and her eyes
encountered those of Henry's pale and dejected countenance. Gertrude's
eyes were on the child. The swiftness with which Henry drove by could
not hide from his wife the striking resemblance of the child to himself.
The young wife had heard the child exclaim "Papa! papa!" and she
immediately saw by the quivering of his lips and the agitation depicted
in his countenance, that all was not right.

"Who is that woman? and why did that child call you papa?" she inquired,
wi