In the course of the evening, a number of Susan’s friends called to bid her good-by.  As each new visitor came, an observant eye might have seen that she was disappointed.  Her manner indicated that she expected one who did not come.  The evening wore away, the social prayer was offered, and they were about to separate for the night.

“Susan, dear,” said her uncle, “I will thank you for a glass of water.”

Susan took a pitcher and repaired to the spring, which gushed out of a bank a few yards from the house.  She had filled her pitcher, when a well-known voice pronounced her name.

“Is it you, Horace?” said she.  “I am away to-morrow.”

“So I have heard.  Are you going to live with your uncle?”

“Oh no.  I am coming home in less than a week.”

“I am sorry you are going.”

“Are you?”

“I am afraid you will not want to come home.”

“Why Horace!”

“Come back as soon as you can.”

“I will.”

“Good-by!” He extended his trembling hand, and received one still more trembling.  It was carried to his lips.  Another good-by was uttered, and he was gone.

It was well for Susan that her uncle was not sitting in his own brilliantly lighted parlor when, with blushing cheek and trembling hand, she handed him the glass of water.  In the dim light of a single candle, her agitation passed unnoticed.

In the morning, after oil-repeated farewells, and amid tears not wholly divorced from smiles, Susan set out on her journey, and, on the following day, arrived at the busy mart where souls are exchanged for gold, and hearts are regarded as less valuable than stocks.  She entered the mansion of her uncle, and was introduced to his polished and stately wife.

* * * *

CHAPTER III.

No pains were spared by her uncle to amuse Susan and to gratify her curiosity.  Mrs. Clifton, also, to her husband’s great delight, put forth very unusual exertions tending to the same end.  Still, Susan was far from being perfectly happy.  She wanted a place like home to which she couid retire when weary with sight-seeing and excitement.  In her uncle’s house, notwithstanding his manifest affection and the perfect politeness of his wife, she did not feel at ease—­she felt as if she were in public.  And then to sit down at the table and partake of God’s bounties, when his blessing had not been asked upon them, and to retire for the night when his protection had not been invoked, detracted greatly from the enjoyment which her visit was in other respects adapted to afford.  The week during which she was to remain had not elapsed ere she desired to return home.  Of this desire she gave no voluntary indication, but exerted herself to appear (as she really was) thankful for the efforts designed to contribute to her happiness.

“What do you think of our niece?” said Mr. Clifton to his wife one morning, when Susan was not present.