mething. Men's wits are sometimes better than women's. When she comes
back from the office I mean to see what she'll say."

Adah did not join Anna at once, but went instead to her own room, where
she could read and cry alone over the nice long letter from Alice
Johnson, telling how much they missed her, how old Sam pined for Willie,
how Mrs. Worthington and Hugh mourned for Adah, and how she, Alice,
prayed for the dear friend, never so dear as now that she was gone. Many
and minute were Alice's inquiries as to whether Adah had yet seen Dr.
Richards, when was he expected home, and so forth.

Adah placed her letter in her pocket, and then went to sit with Anna,
whose face lighted up at once, for Adah's society was like sunshine to
her monotonous life.

"Rose," she said, after an interval of silence had elapsed, "I have been
thinking about you all day, and wishing I might do you good. You have
never told me the city where you met Willie's father, and I fancied it
might be Boston, until I remembered that your advertisement was in the
_Herald_. Was it Boston?"

It was a direct question, and Adah answered frankly.

"It was in New York," while Anna quickly rejoined.

"Oh, I'm so glad! for now you'll let me tell Brother John. He has lived
there so much he must know everybody, or at all events he may find that
man and bring him back. You will have to give his name, of course."

Adah's face was white as ashes, as she replied:

"No, no--oh, no. He could not find him. Nobody can but God. I am willing
to wait His time. Don't tell your brother, Miss Anna--don't."

She spoke so earnestly, and seemed so distressed, that Anna answered at
once:

"I will not without your permission, though I'd like to so much. He is
coming home by-and-by. His wedding day is fixed for April ----, and he
will visit us before that time, to see about our preparations for
receiving 'Lina. We somehow expected a letter to-day. Did you get one?"

"Yes, one for your mother--from the doctor, I think," Adah replied,
without telling how faint the sight of the handwriting had made her, it
was so like George's--not exactly like his, either, but enough so to
make her heart beat painfully as she recalled the only letter she ever
received from him, the fatal note which broke her heart.

"It is so very long since I had a letter all to myself, that I wonder
how it would seem," Anna rejoined. "I have not had one since--since--"

"The day I came there was one fo