blushing at the
thought of his brother being known to them. Still, as he turned to
retrace his steps, he found himself involuntarily looking into the
richly furnished saloons, where the show of luxury, and display of
wealth, lead so many, through their very love of gorgeousness, to drink,
to distress, to death! Each time, as his eyes turned thitherward, a sigh
of relief rose from his heart to find that Arthur was not an inmate
there. Thus seeking, thus hoping, he found himself again before the
door of No. --, Chartres-street. Having no pass-key, he rapped for
admittance, for the store was closed, and all around it dark. Wilkins'
voice bade him enter. Trying the door, he found it unlocked, and going
in, saw Wilkins sitting by the coal fire--which the chill air of
November now rendered necessary--alone, and apparently in deep thought.
With as cheerful an air as he could assume, he approached him, and
laying a hand upon each shoulder, as he stood behind his chair, bent
forward, and looked up in the thoughtful eyes gazing on the fire.

"What can be the subject of your meditations, Mr. Wilkins? your face
looks sad enough to be the index of a sorrowful heart?"

Mr. Wilkins made no reply, but lifting his arm, drew the golden head
upon his bosom, and held it there, stroking back with listless fingers
the soft bright curls.

"Has anything unpleasant happened since I went out, Wilkins?"

"No, Guly; nothing has happened. I was alone here--the fire was bright,
the arm-chair empty, so I sat down, and fell to thinking, that's all.
Have you been to see Blanche?"

"Blanche! I don't suppose I could have found her, had I thought of
trying."

"True enough. We are going there together. What of your brother, Guly?"

Guly told him of his ineffectual search; the fact of his not having seen
him in any of the saloons, and the hope he entertained of seeing him
walk in, by and by, feeling happier for his walk, and seating himself
there by the fire.

Wilkins shook his head, doubtingly.

"Your brother's spirit is one which needs to be peculiarly dealt with,
until he grows a little older, and less impetuous. I'm sorry to say it,
but he has more pride than principle just at this age; and he ought to
have the blessing of a home and a mother's love, till the principle
could be made to predominate. Get a chair, Guly, and sit close by me,
here."

Guly brought the chair, and placed it close to his companion, and seated
himself. Wilkins drew h