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.