. What will become of her when her
poor old aunt is gone? Who will take care of her?"

"I will," said Mason.

"Who may you be?" said she, scanning his countenance as if she had now
seen him for the first time.

"A friend of her childhood."

"What is your name?"

"George Mason."

"George Mason! George Mason!--I have heard that name before. It was
the name she had over so often when she had the fever, poor thing! I
did not know what she said, though she did not say a word during the
whole time that would not look well printed in a book. Did you use to
live in the big white house?"

"Yes, I used to live with my Uncle Earl."

"And with that _lady_," laying a fierce emphasis upon the word, "who
never speaks to Eliza now, though Eliza watched night after night with
her when she was on the borders of the grave. Are you like her?"
observing him to hesitate, she asked in a more excited manner, "are
you like Emily Earl?" Fearing that her clouded mind might receive an
impression difficult to remove, he promptly answered "No."

"I am glad of it," said the widow, resuming her work.

The last question and its answer was overheard by Eliza, as she was
coming in from the garden where she had been attending to a few
flowers. She turned deadly pale as she saw Mason, and remained
standing in the door. He arose and took her hand in both of his, and
was scarcely able to pronounce her name. The good aunt stood with
uplifted hands, gazing with ludicrous amazement at the scene. Eliza
was the first to recover her self-possession. She introduced Mason to
her aunt as an old friend.

"Friend!--are you sure he is a friend?"

"He is a friend," said Mason, "who is very grateful to you for the
love you have borne her, and the care you have taken of her."

"There," said she, opening a door which led to a parlor, perhaps ten
feet square, motioning to them to enter. Mason, still retaining her
trembling hand, led Eliza into the room, and seated her on the sofa,
the chief article of furniture it contained. Her eyes met his earnest
gaze. They were immediately filled with tears. His own overflowed. He
threw his arm around her, and they mingled their tears in silence. It
was long ere the first word was spoken. Eliza at length seemed to wake
as from a dream.

"What am I doing?" said she, attempting to remove his arm, "we are
almost strangers."

"Eliza," said he, solemnly, "do you say what you feel?"

"No, but I know not--" she could not f