the post arriving, and around the
little window of the office were gathered the chief celebrities of the
village,--the principal hotel-keepers, curious to learn what tidings
their correspondents gave of the prospects of the coming summer.
Everything appeared to smile on that happy moment, for as the various
letters were opened, each had some good news to tell his neighbors,--now
of some great English Lord, now of some Hungarian magnate or Russian
Prince that was to make Baden his residence for the summer. "The Cour de
Bade is all taken," said one; "There will not be a room free in all
the Adler;" "The Swan must refuse the Queen of Naples,"--such were the
rumors that fell from lip to lip as in hearty congratulation they talked
over their good fortune.

One figure only of the assembled group seemed excepted from the general
Joy. He was a large elderly man, who, in a patched and threadbare
surtout, with a coarse scarlet muffler round his throat, appeared either
distrustful of the mild season or unprovided with any change of costume
to enjoy it. Seated on a stone bench in front of the window of the
post-office, with an arm on each knee, and his head bent heavily
forward, he never seemed to notice what went forward, nor hear one
syllable of the joyous recognitions about him.

The crowd at last dispersed, the happy recipients of good news were
turning homewards, and only one or two still lingered around the spot,
when the old man arose and approached the window. There was something
almost of shame in the way he slouched his hat over his eyes as he drew
nigh and knocked timidly at the closed pane.

His summons was unheard, and yet for some time he did not repeat
it,--perhaps he loved better to feed his hope even these short few
moments than again fall back into the dark gloom of his despair! At
last, and with a deep, hollow sigh, he tapped again.

"Have you anything for the name of Dalton,--Peter Dalton?" asked he,
in a voice wherein scarcely an accent revealed the once high-hearted
nature.

"Nothing," was the curt rejoinder. And the window was slammed to with
impatience.

He grasped the iron railing with a convulsive grip, as though a sudden
pang had shot through him, and then, by a great effort, he drew himself
up to his full height; his pale and haggard face grew paler as he
turned it upwards, and his bloodless lips trembled as they muttered some
indistinct syllables; then turning about, he brushed abruptly past the