I am very
glad to be able to pay off a small part of the great debt of gratitude
I owe to the benevolent of this world by doing all that I can in my
turn for the needy. And even if I had never myself been the object of a
good man's benevolence, I should still have desired to serve the
indigent; "for whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord," and I
"like the security." Therefore, sweet mother of mine, be at ease; for I
am getting on swimmingly--with one exception. Still I do not hear from
our Clara! Six months have now passed, during which, despite of her
seeming silence, I have written to her every week; but not one letter
or message have I received from her in return! And now you tell me also
that you have not received a single letter from her either! I know not
what to think. Anxiety upon her account is my one sole trouble! Not
that I wrong the dear girl by one instant's doubt of her constancy--no!
my soul upon her truth! if I could do that, I should be most unworthy
of her love! No, mother, you and I know that Clara is true! But ah, we
do not know to what sufferings she may be subjected by Le Noir, who I
firmly believe has intercepted all our letters. Mother, I am about to
ask a great, perhaps an unreasonable, favor of you! It is to go down
into the neighborhood of the Hidden House and make inquiries and try to
find out Clara's real condition. If it be possible, put yourself into
communication with her, and tell her that I judge her heart by my own,
and have the firmest faith in her constancy, even though I have written
to her every week for six months without ever having received an
answer. I feel that I am putting you to expense and trouble, but my
great anxiety about Clara, which I am sure you share, must be my
excuse. I kiss your dear and honored hands, and remain ever your loving
son and faithful servant.

TRAVERSE ROCKE.

"I must try to go. It will be an awful expense, because I know no one
down there, and I shall have to board at the tavern at Tip Top while I
am making inquiries--for I dare not approach the dwelling of Gabriel Le
Noir!" said Marah Rocke, as she folded up her letter and replaced it in
her bosom.

Just at that moment she heard the sound of wheels approach and a
vehicle of some sort draw up to the gate and some one speaking without.

She went to the door, and, listening, heard a girlish voice say:

"A dollar? Yes, certainly here it is. There