"

"Maybe. But is it quite safe for her? He is a young man yet,
notwithstanding those few gray hairs."

"Oh, Faith has tacitly belonged to Paul Rushleigh these three years!"

Mr. Armstrong heard it all. He turned the next moment, and met his "dear
young friend" with the same gentle smile and manner that he always wore
toward her, and they walked up the Ridge path, among the trees,
together.

A bowlder of rock, scooped into smooth hollows that made pleasant seats,
was the goal, usually, of the Ridge walk. Here Faith paused, and Mr.
Armstrong made her sit down and rest.

Standing there before her, he began his story.

"One summer--years ago," he said, "I went to the city of New Orleans. I
went to bring thence, with me, a dear friend--her who was to have been
my wife."

The deep voice trembled, and paused. Faith could not look up, her breath
came quickly, and the tears were all but ready.

"She had been there, through the winter and spring, with her father,
who, save myself, was the only near friend she had in all the world.

"The business which took him there detained him until later in the
season than Northerners are accustomed to feel safe in staying. And
still, important affairs hindered his departure.

"He wrote to me, that, for himself, he must risk a residence there for
some weeks yet; but that his daughter must be placed in safety. There
was every indication of a sickly summer. She knew nothing of his
writing, and he feared would hardly consent to leave him. But, if I
came, she would yield to me. Our marriage might take place there, and I
could bring her home. Without her, he said, he could more quickly
dispatch what remained for him to do; and I must persuade her of this,
and that it was for the safety of all that she should so fulfill the
promise which was to have been at this time redeemed, had their earlier
return been possible.

"In the New Orleans papers that came by the same mail, were paragraphs
of deadly significance. The very cautiousness with which they were
worded weighted them the more.

"Miss Faith! my friend! in that city of pestilence, was my life! Night
and day I journeyed, till I reached the place. I found the address which
had been sent me--there were only strangers there! Mr. Waldo had been,
but the very day before, seized with the fatal disease, and removed to a
fever hospital. Miriam had gone with him--into plague and death!

"Was I wrong, child? Could I have helped it? I follo