ly; "but I do not wish to be convinced
of it."

And Mr. King bowed good morning.

A week or two after this interview, Mrs. Fitzgerald called upon Mrs.
King; for, after all, she felt a certain sort of attraction in the
secret history that existed between them; and she was unwilling
to have the world suppose her acquaintance had been dropped by so
distinguished a lady. By inadvertence of the servant at the door, she
was shown into the parlor while Henriet was there, with her child on
the floor, receiving directions concerning some muslin flounces she
was embroidering. Upon the entrance of a visitor, she turned to take
up her infant and depart. But Mrs. King said, "Leave little Hetty
here, Mrs. Falkner, till you bring my basket for me to select the
floss you need."

Hetty, being thus left alone, scrambled up, and toddled toward Mrs.
King, as if accustomed to an affectionate reception. The black curls
that clustered round her yellow face shook, as her uncertain steps
hastened to a place of refuge; and when she leaned against her
friend's lap, a pretty smile quivered on her coral lips, and lighted
up her large dark eyes.

Mrs. Fitzgerald looked at her with a strange mixture of feelings.

"Don't you think she's a pretty little creature?" asked Mrs. King.

"She might be pretty if the yellow could be washed off," replied Mrs.
Fitzgerald.

"Her cheeks are nearly the color of your hair," rejoined Mrs. King;
"and I always thought that beautiful."

Mrs. Fitzgerald glanced at the mirror, and sighed as she said: "Ah,
yes. My hair used to be thought very pretty when I was young; but I
can see that it begins to fade."

When Henriet returned and took the child, she looked at her very
curiously. She was thinking to herself, "What _would_ my father
say?" But she asked no questions, and made no remark.

She had joined a circle of ladies who were sewing and knitting for the
soldiers; and after some talk about the difficulty she had found in
learning to knit socks, and how fashionable it was for everybody to
knit now, she rose to take leave.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

The months passed on, and brought ever-recurring demands for more
soldiers. Mr. King watched the progress of the struggle with the
deepest anxiety.

One day, when he had seen a new regiment depart for the South, he
returned home in a still more serious mood than was now habitual to
him. After supper, he opened the Evening Transcript, and read for a
while. The