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 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.