Fate had not yet done its worst; there were other troubles in store for the orphan.  She knew little of her kinsman’s circumstances, but supposed him to be at least beyond the reach of want.  But not many days passed before the failure of Sandford deprived him of his little patrimony, and the suspension of Mr. Lindsay left him without employment.  That evening, when Walter came home, she unwillingly heard the conversation between him and his mother in an adjoining room; and then she knew that her kind friends were destitute.  Her resolution was at once formed.  With as cheerful an air as she could assume, she took her place at the tea-table, and in the conversation afterwards strove to hide her desolate heart-sickness.  On going to her room, she packed her simple wardrobe, not without many tears, and then, with only indifferent success, tried to compose her scattered senses in sleep.

Next morning she strove to appear calm and cheerful, but a close scrutiny might have detected the effort,—­a deeper sorrow, perhaps, about the heavy eyelids, and certainly a firmer pressure of the sometimes tremulous lips.  But Walter was too much occupied with the conflict of his own feelings to observe her closely.  While his mother was engaged in her housewifely duties, he took Alice’s hand, and for the first time spoke of his losses, but expressed himself confident of obtaining a new situation, and begged her to dismiss any apprehensions from her mind.  She turned her face that he might not see the springing tears.  He went on:—­

“The sharpest pang I feel, Alice, is in the thought, that, with the loss of my little fortune, and with my present gloomy prospects, I cannot say to you what I would,—­I cannot tell you what is nearest my heart.  Since you came here, our sombre house has grown bright.  As I have looked at you, I have dared to promise myself a happiness which before I had never conceived possible.”

He hesitated.

“Don’t, dear Walter!  I beg of you, don’t venture upon that subject!”

“Why? is it painful to you?”

“Inexpressibly!  You are generous and good.  I love and honor you as my cousin, my friend, my protector.  Do not think of a nearer relationship.”

Walter stood irresolute.

“Some other time, dear Alice,” he faltered out.  “I don’t wish to pain you, and I have no courage to-day.”

“Let me be frank, Cousin Walter.  Under other circumstances, I would not anticipate the words I saw trembling on your lips.  But even if the memory of my poor father were not so fresh, I could not hear you.”  She hid her face as she went on.  “I have received a wound from the faithlessness of one lover which never will heal.  I could not repay your love.  I have no heart to give you.”

Thus far she had controlled her feelings, when, kissing his hand with sudden fervor, she burst into tears, and hastily left the room.

She waited till Walter went out; then she wrote a brief note and placed it on the library-table at his favorite corner, and, after bidding Mrs. Monroe good morning, went out as though for a walk.  Frequently she looked back with tearful eyes at the home she felt constrained to leave; but gathering her strength, she turned away and plunged into the current that set down Washington Street.