in the
evening with an empty saddle, and he never returned. The next morning
Nelly was missing, and she was never found. I thought it right to be
silent about my adventure. To have done otherwise might have produced
mischievous results to Jim and Nelly, and could do their master no
good. I searched the woods in every direction, but I never came upon
any trace of Mr. Fitzgerald, except the marks of footsteps near the
sea, before the rising of the tide. I had made arrangements to return
to the North about that time; but Mrs. Fitzgerald's second son was
seized with fever, and I stayed with her till he was dead and buried.
Then we all came to Boston together. About a year after, her little
daughter, who had been my pupil, died."

"Poor Mrs. Fitzgerald!" said Flora. "I have heard her allude to her
lost children, but I had no idea she had suffered so much."

"She did suffer," replied Mrs. Bright, "though not so deeply as some
natures would have suffered in the same circumstances. Her present
situation is far from being enviable. Her father is a hard, grasping
man, and he was greatly vexed that her splendid marriage turned out to
be such a failure. It must be very mortifying to her to depend upon
him mainly for the support of herself and son. I pitied her, and I
pitied Mr. Fitzgerald too. He was selfish and dissipated, because he
was brought up with plenty of money, and slaves to obey everything he
chose to order. That is enough to spoil any man."

Rosa had listened with downcast eyes, but now she looked up earnestly
and said, "That is a very kind judgment, Mrs. Bright, and I thank you
for the lesson."

"It is a just judgment," replied their sensible hostess. "I often tell
Mr. Bright we cannot be too thankful that we were brought up to wait
upon ourselves and earn our own living. You will please to excuse me
now, ladies, for it is time to prepare tea."

As she closed the door, Rosa pressed her sister's hand, and sighed as
she said, "O, this is dreadful!"

"Dreadful indeed," rejoined Flora. "To think of him as he was when I
used to make you blush by singing, '_Petit blanc! mon bon frere_!' and
then to think what an end he came to!"

The sisters sat in silence for some time, thinking with moistened eyes
of all that had been kind and pleasant in the man who had done them so
much wrong.

CHAPTER XXX.

IF young Fitzgerald had not been strongly inclined to spend the summer
in Northampton, he would have been urged