. The mysterious exile of
Mildred, the failing health and spirits of the blacksmith, the new
rumors respecting the fate of Lucy, the sudden and unaccountable
marriage of Mrs. Kinloch, and her fruitless attempt to bring her
daughter back, were all discussed in every house, as well as in places
of public resort. Hugh Branning was soon convinced that the village
was no place for him. He had bravely horsewhipped a cripple, but he
could not stop the tongues of the whole parish, even if he could
protect himself from swift and extempore justice. He gathered his
clothes, and, after a long private conference with his mother, started
before daylight for the railway-station. As he does not appear on the
stage again, we may say here, that, not long after, during a financial
panic in New York, he made a fortune of nearly half a million dollars
by speculating in stocks. He used to tell his friends in after years
that he had "only five thousand to begin with,--the sole property left
him by his lamented parents." He has now a handsome mansion in the
Fifth Avenue, is a conspicuous member of the Rev. Dr. Holdfast's
church, and most zealous against the ill-timed discussions and
philanthropic vagaries of the day. What would he not give to forget
that slowly-moving figure, with swimming eyes, carrying a flaring
candle? How far along the years that feeble light was thrown! He never
went through the hall of his house at night without a shudder,
dreading to catch a glimpse of that sorrowing face.

It was on Tuesday evening, the night preceding the Probate Court to
which Squire Clamp had been cited. Nothing had been heard from Mark,
and his friends were much depressed. Mildred sat by Mr. Hardwick's
bedside, during the long hours, and read to him from his favorite
authors. About ten o'clock, just as the family were preparing to go to
bed, Mark drove up to the door. He was warmly welcomed, and at once
overwhelmed with questions. "Did he find Lucy?" "What did she know?"
"Why did she secrete herself?" To all these Mark merely replied, "I
found Lucy; how much I have accomplished I dare not say. But do you,
James, come with me. We will go up to old Mrs. Ransom's."

"Why, she's not there; she's gone to the poor-house."

"Broken down with old age and sorrow, I suppose. But I don't care to
see her now. Let us go to the old house; and meantime, you girls, go
to bed."

But they protested they should wait till he returned,--that they could
not sleep a