wild cries, till I fancied they were voices of the uneasy dead, come back to take the vacant seats beside me, and to pace again, with ghostly tread, the floor of that dark old countingroom. They were a mystery and a terror to me; but they never creaked so harshly, or cried so wildly, as on that October night, when, for the first time in nine years, I turned my steps up the trembling old stairway.

It was just after nightfall. A single gas burner threw a dim, uncertain light over the old desk, and lit up the figure of a tall, gray-haired man, who was bending over it. He had round, stooping shoulders, and long, spindling limbs. One of his large feet, encased in a thick, square-toed shoe, rested on the round of the desk; the other, planted squarely on the floor, upheld his spare, gaunt frame. His face was

66

thin and long, and two deep, black lines under his eyes contrasted strangely with the pallid whiteness of his features. His clothes were of the fashion of those good people called "Friends," and had served long as his 'Sunday best," before being degraded to daily duty. They were of plain brown, and, though not shabby, were worn and threadbare, and of decidedly economical appearance. Everything about him, indeed, wore an economical look. His scant coat tails, narrow pants, and short waistcoat, shewed that the cost of each inch of material had been counted; while his thin hair, brushed carefully over his bald head, had not a lock to spare; and even his large, sharp bones were covered with only just enough flesh to hold them comfortably together. He had stood there till his eye was dim and his step feeble; and though he had, for twenty years-when handing in each semiannual trial balance to the head of the house-declared that was his last, everybody said he would continue to stand there till his own trial balance was struck, and his earthly accounts were closed for ever.

As I entered, he turned his mild blue eye upon me, and, taking my hand warmly in his, exclaimed

66

My dear boy, I am glad to see thee!"

"I am glad to see you, David. Is Alice well?"

"Oh! better; he got out several days ago.

He's inside

now;" and, opening the door of an inner office, separated from the outer one by a glass partition, he said, "John, Edmund is here."

A tall, dark man came to the door, and, with a slightly flurried and embarrassed manner, said"Ah, Mr Kirke! I'm glad to see you.

in."

Please step

As he tendered me a chair, a shorter and younger gentleman, who was writing at another desk, sprang from his seat, and, slapping me familiarly on the back, exclaimed

66

My dear fellow, how are you?"

"Very well, Cragin; how are you?" I replied, returning his cordial greeting.

"Good as new-never better in my life. It's good for one's health to see you here."

"I have come at Mr Hallet's invitation."

"Yes, I know. Hallet has told me you've a smart boy you want us to take. Send him along. Boston's the place to train a youngster to business."

The last speaker was not more than thirty, but a bald spot on the top of his head, and a slight falling in of his mouth, caused by premature decay of the front teeth, made him seem several years older. He had marked but not regular features, and a restless, dark eye, that opened and shut with a peculiar wink, which kept time with the motion of his lips in speaking. His clothes were cut in a loose, jaunty style, and his manner, though brusque and abrupt, betokened, like his face, a free, frank, whole-souled character. He was several years the junior of the other, and as unlike him as one man can be unlike another.

The older gentleman, as I have said, was tall and dark. He had a high, bold forehead, a pale, sallow complexion, and wore heavy, gray whiskers, trimmed with the utmost nicety, and meeting under a sharp, narrow chin. His face was large, his jaws wide, and his nose pointed and prominent; but his mouth was small, and gathered in at the corners like a rat's; and, as if to add to the rat resemblance, its puny, white teeth seemed borrowed from that animal. There was a

stately precision in his manner, and a stealthy softness in his tread, not often seen in combination, which might have impressed a close observer as indicative of a bold, pompous, and yet cunning character.

These two gentlemen-Mr Hallet and Mr Cragin—were the only surviving partners of the great house of Russell, Rollins, & Co.

"Have you brought him with you?" asked Hallet, his voice trembling a little, and his pale face flushing slightly as he spoke.

"No, sir," I replied; "I thought I would confer with you first. I have not yet broached the subject to the lad."

Some unimportant conversation followed, when Hallet, turning to Cragin, asked—

"Are all the letters written for to-morrow's steamer?" "Yes," said Cragin, rising; “and I believe I'll leave you two together. As you've not spoken for ten years, you must have a good deal to say. Come, David," he called out, as he drew on his outside coat, "let's go."

"No; don't take David," I exclaimed; "I want to talk with the old gentleman."

"But you can see him to-morrow."

"No; I return in the morning."

"Well, David, I'll tell Alice you'll be home by nine.” "Oh! that's it," I said, laughing.

"It's Alice who

makes you leave so early on steamer night."

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Yes, sir; Alice that is, and Mrs Augustus Cragin that

is to be when I get a new set of teeth.

Good night;" and

saying this, he took up his cane, and left the office.

When he was gone, Hallet said to me

"Do you desire that David should be a witness to our interview?"

We can come to no

"I want him to be a party to it. arrangement without his co-operation. Hallet asked the bookkeeper in. When he was seated, I said

"Well, Mr Hallet, what do you propose to do for your son?"

"To treat him as I do my other children. knowledge him. That would injure him."

Do all but ac

"That is not important. But please be explicit as to what you will do."

"David tells me that the lad's inclinations tend to business, and that you have meant to take him into your office. I will take him into mine, and, when he is twenty-one, if he has conducted himself properly, give him an interest.”

"I shall be satisfied with no contingent arrangement, sir. I know Frank will prove worthy of the position.'

'Very well; then I will agree definitely to make him a partner when he is of age.

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Well, Mr Hallet, if Frank will consent to come, I will agree to this, with certain conditions. I told his mother, when she was dying, that I would consider him my own child; therefore I cannot give up the control of him. must regard me and depend on me as he does now. Besides,

He

I cannot let him come here, and have no home whose influence shall protect him from the temptations which beset young men in large cities. David must take him into his family, and treat him as he treated me when I was a boy; and this must be reduced to writing.'

Hallet shewed some emotion when I spoke of Frank's mother, but his face soon resumed its usual expression, and he promptly replied

"I will agree to all that; but I would suggest that the fact of his being my son should not be communicated to him; that it should be confined to us three. I ask this, believe me, only for the sake of my family."

"I see no objection to that, sir; and I think Frank, for his own sake, should not know what his prospects

are.

Hallet signified assent, and, turning to David, I asked— "David, what do you say? Will you take him?

"I will," said the old bookkeeper, shewing, in his expenditure of breath, the close economy which was the rule of his life.

"Nothing remains but to arrange his salary, and the share he shall have when he becomes a partner," I remarked to Hallet.

"Will an average of seven hundred a-year, and an eighth interest when he's twenty-one, be satisfactory?"

"Entirely so. An eighth in your house will be better than a quarter in ours. As it is now all understood, let David draw up the papers. We will sign them, and leave them

with him till I see Frank."

"Very well. David, please to draw them up," said Hallet; and then, his voice again trembling a little, he added, "All is understood, Mr Kirke, but the compensation I shall make you for your fatherly care of my much-neglected son. Money cannot pay for such service, but it will relieve me to reimburse you for your expenditure."

"I have had my pay, sir, in the love of the boy. I ask

no more."

In a

Hallet was sensibly affected, but, without speaking, he turned to the desk, and took down his bank-book. few moments he handed me a cheque. It was for five thousand dollars. I took it, and, hesitating an instant, said— "I will keep this, sir, not for myself, but for Frank. may be of service to him at some future time."

it.

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Keep it for yourself, sir, not for him.

It

He will not need

He shall share equally with my other children."

"I am glad to see this spirit in you. worthy of all you do for him."

Frank will be

"It is not for his sake that I will do it," replied Hallet, his voice tremulous with emotion; "it is that I may have the forgiveness of the one I—I—” He said no more, but, leaning his head on his hand, he wept!

No one spoke for some minutes; at last David rose, and, handing me one of the papers, laid the other before Hallet.

"This appears right," I said, after reading it over carefully.

"Yes," replied Hallet, taking up a pen and signing the other. Passing it to me, he added, “Keep them both-take them now.

"But Frank may not wish to come."

"Then I will find some other way of helping him. He is my son ! Take the papers."

"Well, as you say,' I replied. "David, please to wit

ness this."

Hallet pressed me to pass the night at his house, but I declined, and rode out to Cambridge with the old book-keeper. With many injunctions to watch carefully over Frank, I left him about twelve o'clock, rode into town with Cragin, and the next morning started for New York.

That night, as I recounted the interwiew to Kate, I said

"I never did believe in these double-quick conversions; but Hallet is an altered man.

"Then, indeed, can the leopard change his spots."

As usual, her womanly intuitions were right; my worldly wisdom was wrong!

CHAPTER XVI.

SELMA.

Not long after the events I have just related, the mail brought me the following letter from Preston :

"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,-Circumstances, which I can. not explain by letter, render it imperatively necessary that I should provide another home for my daughter. Her education has been sadly neglected, and she should be where she can have experienced tutors, and good social surroundings,