Should he return to New York, accept the offer of an old friend of his

father's, an experienced practitioner, and thus earn his own bread

honorably; or, should he remain a while at Snowdon and cultivate Alice

Johnson? He had never yet failed when he chose to exert himself, and

though he might, for a time, be compelled to adopt a different code of

morality from that which he at present acknowledged, he would do it for

once. He could be interested in those ragged children; he could

encourage Sunday schools; he could attend church as regularly as Alice

herself; and, better yet, he could doctor the poor for nothing, as that

was sure to tell, and he would do it, too, if necessary. This was the

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finale which he reached at last by a series of arguments pro and con,

and when it was reached, he was anxious to commence the task at once. He

presumed he could love Alice Johnson; she was so pretty; but even if he

didn't, he would only be doing what thousands had done before him. He

should be very proud of her, and would certainly try to make her happy.

One long, almost sobbing sigh to the memory of poor Lily, who had loved

so much and been so cruelly betrayed, one faint struggle with

conscience, which said that Alice Johnson was too pure a gem for him to

trifle with, and then, the past, with its sad memories, was buried.

"Not going to church twice in one day!" Mrs. Richards exclaimed as the

doctor threw aside the book he had been reading, and started for his

cloak.

"Why, yes," he answered. "I liked that parson so much better than I

expected, that I think I'll go again," and hurrying out, he was soon on

his way to St. Paul's.

"Gone on foot, too, when it's so cold!" and the mother, who had risen

and stood watching him from the window, spoke anxiously.

The service was commencing, but the doctor was in no hurry to take his

seat. He would as soon be seen as not, and, vain fop that he was, he

rather enjoyed the stirring of heads he felt would ensue when he moved

up the aisle. At last he would wait no longer, and with a most

deferential manner, as if asking pardon for disturbing the congregation,

he walked to his pew door, and depositing his hat and cloak, sat down

just where he meant to sit, next the little figure, at which he did not

glance, knowing, of course, that it was Alice.

How then was he astonished and confounded when at the reading of the

Psalter, another voice than hers greeted his ear!--a strange, sharp

voice, whose tones were not as indicative of refinement as Alice's had

been, and whose pronunciation, distinctly heard, savored somewhat of the

so-called down East. He looked at her now, moving off a foot or more,

and found her a little, odd, old woman, shriveled and withered, with

velvet hat, not of the latest style, its well-kept strings of black

vastly different from the glossy blue he had so much admired at an

earlier period of the day. Was ever man more disappointed? Who was she,

the old witch, for so he mentally termed the inoffensive woman devoutly

conning her prayer book, unconscious of the wrath her presence was

exciting in the bosom of the young man beside her! How he wished he had

stayed at home, and were it not that he sat so far distant from the

door, he would certainly have left in disgust. What a drawling tone was

Mr. Howard's.




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