Ernest. He returned to his room and sat down to give the finishing touches to a painting laid aside in his eagerness to sketch Rosalind. When it was completed he proposed to himself a short walk, indulging a hope of coming in contact with Walter. He had not proceeded far when he met the post-boy bringing him a letter. It contained a message from a near friend of his, an old classmate, who was fast wasting away in the last stage of consumption and wished to see him as soon as possible. Deeming it necessary to start next morning he had no time to lose, and instantly set about preparation for the journey, expecting to return in a few days. Seeing that his friend would not probably survive long he did not leave him again, and after his death was detained several weeks on business lie desired him to attend to. His thoughts constantly reverted to Rosalind, and the conjectures she would have about him, which made the time seem very long. Under other circumstances he would have written to Walter and explained his absence.
At length the wished—for day of his return arrived, when he secured a seat in the old lumbering stage coach which had a welcome, home-like look as it rumbled over the hills and valleys. At sunset he was safely landed at the door of the hotel which, in those days, was none the less popular for the ruinous traffic it carried on. Scarcely observing the fierce altercations and rude scuffling in the bar-room, sights and rounds that seldom failed to give him a painful sensation for the reminiscence they brought of the first and last night he ever spent in the society
