ng the splendid monument reared over her father's
grave.

Ellen Horton had ever met Henriette with a cordial greeting, and she
did not feel the same shrinking when she was requested to spend a few
days at the residence of the wealthy Edward Horton that she did in
going to many other places, and she went with a cheerful heart to
prepare the splendid bridal dress for Ellen.

Next day, Charles Hunter, the future bridegroom, arrived from
Providence, the future home of the fair Ellen, and the young ladies
and gentlemen of the place were invited to spend the evening.

Mr. Horton was formerly from Philadelphia, and an intimate friend of
Charles Hunter's father, who was a sea captain, and being shipwrecked
during one of his voyages, was conveyed in a pitiful condition to the
house of Mr. Horton, and thus commenced an ardent friendship, to be
ended only by death.

The nuptials of Charles and Ellen were looked forward to with great
interest, by both families. Especially, was Mrs. Hunter, much pleased,
as she was an invalid, and had no daughter.

But evening came--bright, beautiful evening, and with it came bright,
beautiful eyes--bright, beautiful faces, and all was gaiety and
joyousness, In the brilliantly illuminated parlors of Mr. Horton.
Henriette, yielding to the wishes of Ellen and her mother, and the
express commands of Mr. Horton, consented to join the party. She
entered the room with the dignity of a queen; but the scornful toss
of many a young head, and the averted gaze of many a familiar eye,
brought the deep blush of wounded feelings to her cheek, ere she
reached her seat. As she raised her eyes she met those of Henry Lorton
fixed upon her, with an expression that her woman's intuitive sense
easily read.

They had frequently met before, but had never formed any acquaintance.

Each one was winning a name. Henry Lorton had made rapid advancement
in his profession, and stood high in the estimation of his fellow men,
for honesty and integrity of principle.

Many a match-making mother would gladly have entrapped him for her
daughter, and many a daughter, perchance, might have accepted his
hand, had it been offered, but it was not. No one could elicit
anything beyond politeness from him.

He turned to a dark-eyed beauty, who sat beside him, asking her if she
was acquainted with Miss Clinton.

She blushed, stammered,

"Why, no; I am not now--that is, I used to be when she went into
society, that is before her