ir hands wound it around Ishmael's neck, and charged him to hasten
home, because she knew that influenza would be lying in wait to seize
any loitering pedestrian that night.

Ishmael ran home, as happy as it was in the power of man to make him.
How blest he felt in the possession of her scarf--her fine, soft, warm
scarf, deliciously filled with the aroma of Claudia's own youth, beauty,
and sweetness. He felt that he was not quite separated from her while he
had her scarf--her dear scarf, with the warmth and perfume of her own
neck yet within its meshes! That night he only unwound it from his
throat to fold it and lay it on his pillow that his cheek might rest
upon it while he slept--slept the sweetest sleep that ever visited his
eyes.

Ah, poor, pale sleeper! this was the last happy night he was destined to
have for many weeks and months.

In the morning he arose early as usual to hasten to school and--to
Claudia. He wound her gift around his neck and set off at a brisk pace.
The weather was still intensely cold; but the winter sky was clear and
the sunshine glittered "keen and bright" upon the crisp white snow.
Ishmael hurried on and reached Brudenell Hall just in time to see a
large fur-covered sleigh, drawn by a pair of fine horses, shoot through,
the great gates and disappear down the forest road.

A death-like feeling, a strange spasm, as if a hand of ice had clutched
his heart, caught away Ishmael's breath at the sight of that vanishing
sleigh. He could not rationally account for this feeling; but soon as he
recovered his breath he inquired of old Jovial, who stood gazing after
the sleigh.

"Who has gone away?"

"Miss Claudia, sir; her pa came after her last night--"

"Claudia--gone!" echoing Ishmael, reeling and supporting himself against
the trunk of the bare old elm tree.

"It was most unexpected, sir; mist'ess sat up most all night to see to
the packing of her clothes--"

"Gone--gone--Claudia gone!" breathed Ishmael, in a voice despairing, yet
so low, that it did not interrupt the easy flow of Jovial's narrative.

"But you see, sir, the judge, he said how he hadn't a day to lose,
'cause he'd have to be at Annapolis to-morrow to open his court--"

"Gone--gone!" wailed Ishmael, dropping his arms.

"And 'pears the judge did write to warn master and mist'ess to get Miss
Claudia ready to go this morning; but seems like they never got the
letter--"

"Oh, gone!" moaned Ishmael.

--"Anyways, it was a