s a haggard look of desperation in her face akin to that which
Hamlin had once seen in her sister's eyes on the boat, as she said
huskily: "I did not know YOU were here. I came to see the woman who had
painted Mr. Hamlin's portrait. I did not know it was YOU. Listen! Quick!
answer me one question. Tell me--I implore you--for the sake of the
mother who bore us both!--tell me--is this the man for whom you left
home?"

"No! No! A hundred times no!"

Then there was a silence. Mr. Hamlin from the bedroom heard no more.

An hour later, when the two women opened the studio door, pale but
composed, they were met by the anxious and tearful face of Aunt Chloe.

"Lawdy Gawd, Missy,--but dey done gone!--bofe of 'em!"

"Who is gone?" demanded Sophy, as the woman beside her trembled and grew
paler still.

"Marse Jack and dat fool nigger, Hannibal."

"Mr. Hamlin gone?" repeated Sophy incredulously. "When? Where?"

"Jess now--on de down boat. Sudden business. Didn't like to disturb yo'
and yo' friend. Said he'd write."

"But he was ill--almost helpless," gasped Sophy.

"Dat's why he took dat old nigger. Lawdy, Missy, bress yo' heart. Dey
both knows aich udder, shuah! It's all right. Dar now, dar dey are;
listen."

She held up her hand. A slow pulsation, that might have been the dull,
labored beating of their own hearts, was making itself felt throughout
the little cottage. It came nearer,--a deep regular inspiration that
seemed slowly to fill and possess the whole tranquil summer twilight. It
was nearer still--was abreast of the house--passed--grew fainter and at
last died away like a deep-drawn sigh. It was the down boat, that was
now separating Mr. Hamlin and his protegee, even as it had once brought
them together.

AN INGENUE OF THE SIERRAS.

I.

We all held our breath as the coach rushed through the semi-darkness of
Galloper's Ridge. The vehicle itself was only a huge lumbering shadow;
its side-lights were carefully extinguished, and Yuba Bill had just
politely removed from the lips of an outside passenger even the cigar
with which he had been ostentatiously exhibiting his coolness. For it
had been rumored that the Ramon Martinez gang of "road agents" were
"laying" for us on the second grade, and would time the passage of our
lights across Galloper's in order to intercept us in the "brush" beyond.
If we could cross the ridge without being seen, and so get through the
brush before they reached it, we were