to oblige Miss Cavendish.

"I hope it will not inconvenience you to deliver this in person, Mr.
Lytton," added Emma.

"Certainly not, Miss Cavendish," replied Alden, telling unconscious fib
the second.

"For, you see, I am rather anxious about our friend. She left in ill
health. She is almost a stranger in Charlottesville. And--this is the
point--I have not heard from her, by letter or otherwise, since she left
us; so I fear she may be too ill to write, and may have no friend near
to write for her. This is why I tax your kindness to deliver the letter
in person and find out how she is; and--write and let us know. I am
asking a great deal of you, Mr. Lytton," added Emma, with a deprecating
smile.

"Not at all. It is a very small service that you require. And I hope you
know that I should be exceedingly happy to have the opportunity of doing
any very great service for you, Miss Cavendish," replied Alden,
truthfully and earnestly.

For in itself it was a very small service that Miss Cavendish had
required of him, and he would have liked and even preferred another and
a greater, and, in fact, a different service.

"Many thanks," said Miss Cavendish, with a frank smile, as she left the
letter in his hands.

Then the adieus were all said, and promises of frequent correspondence
and future visits exchanged among the young ladies. And the travelers
departed, and the young hostess re-entered her lonely home and resumed
her usual routine of domestic duties.

She was anxious upon more than one account.

More than a week had passed since the departure of Mary Grey, and yet,
as she had told Alden Lytton, she had never heard even of her safe
arrival at Charlottesville, and she feared that her _protegee_ might be
suffering from nervous illness among strangers.

More than a week had also passed since she had telegraphed and written
to her Aunt Fanning in New York. But no answer had yet come from that
unhappy woman. And she feared that the poor relative whom she wished to
succor might have met with some new misfortune.

However, Emma had hoped, from day to day, that each morning's mail might
bring her good news from Charlottesville or New York, or both.

And even to-day she waited with impatience for the return of Jerome, who
had driven the traveling-carriage containing the departing visitors to
Wendover, and who might find letters for Blue Cliffs waiting at the
post-office.

Emma could not be at rest all that day, part