was nearing the Golden Hair.

"Away off in New England, among the Yankee hills, there was a pure,
white blossom growing; a blossom so pure, so fair, that few, very few,
were worthy even so much as to look upon it, as day by day it unfolded
some new beauty. There was nothing to support this flower but a single
frail parent stalk, which snapped asunder one day, and Blossom was left
alone. It was a strange idea, transplanting it to another soil; for the
atmosphere of Spring Bank was not suited to such as she. But she came,
and, as by magic, the whole atmosphere was changed--changed at least to
one--the bad, wayward Hugh, who dared to love this fair young girl with
a love stronger than his life. For her he would do anything, and
beneath her influence he did improve rapidly. He was conscious of it
himself--conscious of a greater degree of self-respect--a desire to be
what she would like to have him.

"She was very, very beautiful; more so than anything Hugh had ever
looked upon. Her face was like an angel's face, and her hair--much like
yours, Alice;" and he laid his hand on the bright head, now bent down,
so that he could not see that face so like an angel's.

The little hand, too, had slid from his knee, and, fastlocked within the
other, was buried in Alice's lap, as she listened with throbbing heart
to the story Hugh was telling.

"In all the world there was nothing so dear to Hugh as this young girl.
He thought of her by day and dreamed of her by night, seeing always in
the darkness her face, with its eyes of blue bending over him--hearing
the music of her voice, like the falling of distant water, and even
feeling the soft touch of her hands as he fancied them laid upon his
brow. She was good, too, as beautiful; and it was this very goodness
which won on Hugh so fast, making him pray often that he might be worthy
of her--for, Alice, he came at last to dream that he could win her; she
was so kind to him--she spoke to him so softly, and, by a thousand
little acts, endearing herself to him more and more.

"Heaven forgive her if she misled him all this while; but she did not.
It were worse than death to think she did--to know I've told you this in
vain--have offered you my heart only to have it thrust back upon me as
something you do not want. Speak, Alice! in mercy, speak! Can it be that
I'm mistaken?"

Alice saw how she had unwittingly led him on, and her white lips
quivered with pain. Lifting up her head at last, sh