She went to that sunny region, and while there,
became acquainted with a man of fine intellect and fascinating
manners, who won her affections, and afterwards proved unworthy of
her. Again the beauty of her life was darkened, and with a weary
heart she wore out the tedious years of her joyless existence. She
was an angel of charity to the poor and suffering. She grew lovelier
through sorrow. A desire to see her brother, her nearest and dearest
relative, called her North again, and when our story opens she was
in the bosom of his home, a member of his family. He loved her
deeply, yet she felt like an alien--his wife had not welcomed her as
a sister should. Mary Clinton's heart went out toward's Alice, her
eldest niece, a beautiful and loving creature just springing into
womanhood. But the fair girl was gay and thoughtless, flattered and
caressed by everybody. She knew sadness only by the name. She had no
dream that she could impart a deep joy, by giving forth her young
heart's love to the desolate stranger.
The hour had grown late, very late, and Mary Clinton still leaned
her head upon the table buried in thoughts, when the bounding step
of Alice outside the door aroused her from her revery.
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