and she clasped her little silver
knife, with a helpless sigh, and dropping both hands into her lap,
wondered what on earth she could do, and of course did nothing.

The young people forgot all about the prim Abigail, and went on with
their conversation; but after awhile a shade of sadness crept over both
those young faces. Their hearts wandered off into serious reveries, and
for a time they became unconscious of each other's presence.

Clara was thinking of that night, which now seemed far, far away, but
was, in fact, scarcely twenty-four hours back in her life--of the words
that were spoken, the promises given, and sealed with kisses, which
seemed burning on her lips even yet.

Oh! where was he now, the man whom she loved so entirely, and whose
humiliation made her heart ache, and burn with sorrow and wrath every
time she thought of it? Would he hold to his faith with her, after such
scornful treatment from her father? Where would he go? Where was he now?
He had been a wanderer always, and had found himself sufficient to
himself.

After he saw her the first idea of rest and a permanent home had opened
new vistas of hope to him. He had found the one thing that had hitherto
been denied to his existence--found it only to be driven from the light
that had dawned upon him, like a trespassing dog.

Clara's heart swelled as she thought of all this, and all at once the
prim Abigail was astonished out of all propriety by a burst of sobs from
the corner in which Clara had retreated.

The young man looked up and came out of his own melancholy thoughts,
just as Mrs. Judson had drawn forth her smelling-bottle and was pressing
it upon the girl, who averted her face and sobbed out, piteously:

"Oh! let me alone--please let me alone!"

Judson retreated backward to her place in the opposite corner, while the
young man motioned her to remain quiet, and let the pretty creature sob
out her grief unmolested.

At last Clara had wept her sudden burst of sorrow away, and became
conscious of her own strange conduct. She pushed back her hat, drew the
soft gauze streamers across her eyes, and burst into a sobbing laugh,
exquisitely childlike, but which Judson could not in the least
understand.

"I'm afraid I am getting homesick," she said. "I never was so far from
Oakhurst before, and, until this morning, you know, I had never seen
either of your faces, but all that need not make such an absurd baby of
me."

Mrs. Judson unfolded