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 Her uncle's step made her spring up and unlock the door, showing him such an altered face that he stopped short, ejaculating in dismay,—

"Good heavens, child! what's the matter?" adding, as she pointed to the sofa in pathetic silence, "Is he hurt?—ill?—dead?"

"No, uncle: he is—" She could not utter the ugly word, but whispered, with a sob in her throat, "Be kind to him," and fled away to her own room, feeling as if a great disgrace had fallen on the house.

OW will he look? what will he say? can any thing make us forget and be happy again?" were the first questions Rose asked herself as soon as she woke from the brief sleep which followed a long, sad vigil. It seemed as if the whole world must be changed, because a trouble darkened it for her. She was too young yet to know how possible it is to forgive much greater sins than this, forget far heavier disappointments, outlive higher hopes, and bury loves compared to which hers was but a girlish fancy. She wished it had not been so bright a day, wondered how