In blank amazement Mr. Stanley asked her what she meant, while Alice, equally amazed, replied:  “Surely, you have not forgotten me?  Can I be mistaken?  I am the little girl whom Irving Stanley rescued from drowning, when the St. Helena took fire, several years ago.”

“I was never on a burning boat, never saw the St. Helena,” was Mr. Stanley’s reply; and then for a moment the two regarded each other intently, but Irving was the first to speak.

“It was Hugh,” he said.  “It must have been Hugh, for I remember now that when he was a lad, or youth, his uncle sometimes called him Irving, which is, I think, his middle name.”

“Yes, Yes, H.I.  Worthington.  I’ve seen it written thus, but never thought to ask what ‘I.’ was for.  It was Hugh, and I mistook that old man for his father.  I understand it now,” and Alice spoke hurriedly, her fair face coloring with excitement as the truth flashed upon her that she was Golden Hair.

Then the bright color faded away, and alarmed at the pallor which succeeded it, Irving Stanley passed his arm supportingly around her, asking if she were faint.  Old Sam, moving away from the door, saw her as she sat thus, but did not hear her reply:  “It takes me so by surprise.  Poor Hugh, how he must have suffered.”

She said this last more to herself than to Irving Stanley, who, nevertheless, saw in it a meaning; and looking her earnestly in the face, said to her:  “Alice, you cannot be my wife, because your heart is given to Hugh Worthington.  Is it not so?”

Alice would not deceive him, and she answered, frankly:  “It is,” while Irving replied:  “I approve your choice, although it makes me very wretched.  You will be happy with him.  Heaven bless you both.”

He dared not trust himself to say another word, but hurrying from her presence, sought the shelter of the woods, where alone he could school himself to bear this terrible disappointment.

Hugh did not return until evening, and the first object he saw distinctly as he galloped to the house, was Alice, sitting near to Irving upon the pleasant piazza, just as it was natural that she should sit.  He did not observe that his mother was there with them; he did not think of anything as he rode past them with nod and smile, save that life henceforth was but a dreary, hopeless blank to him.

Leaving Rocket in Claib’s care, he sauntered to the back piazza, where Sam was sitting, and taking a seat beside him startled him by saying that he should start on the morrow in quest of his missing sister.

“Yes, massah,” was Sam’s quiet reply, for he understood the reason of this sudden journey.

Old Sam pitied Hugh, and after a moment’s silence his pity expressed itself in words.  Laying his dark hand on Hugh’s bowed head, he said: 

“Poor Massah Hugh.  Sam kin feel for you ef he is black.  Niggers kin love like the white folks does.”