Beyond the Indian mines?"
Massinger.
Arthur Lloyd was about twenty-two when, by his father's death, he came into possession of property worth, at least, a million. His father died somewhat suddenly, and the young man, who was then in Paris, partly on business for his father, partly to see the world, was summoned home by the cares which such an inheritance naturally involved. There are few scenes that more deeply try the spirit of a man than a return to a desolate home. The mind can support the separations which the common current of human affairs renders inevitable without much suffering. One may even dwell in the midst of strangers, and not feel lonely, if the heart has a resting-place elsewhere. But when we open the solitary apartments, where everything we see calls up associations of dear friends we can hope to meet no more forever, a blight falls on our path of life, and we know that whatever of happiness may await us, our enjoyments can never be as in days past.
It was late on Saturday night when Arthur Lloyd reached the elegant mansion in —— street, New York, of which he was now the sole proprietor. The domestics had been expecting his arrival, and every arrangement had been made, as far as they knew his wishes and tastes, to gratify him. Wealth will command attention, but in this case there was more devotion to the man than his money; for Arthur was beloved, and affection needs no prompter.
"How sorry I am that this pretty mignonette is not in blossom!" said Mrs. Ruth, the housekeeper; "you remember, Lydia, how young Mr. Lloyd liked the mignonette."
"Yes, I remember it well; but I always thought it was because Miss Ellen called it her flower, and he wanted to please the pretty little girl."
"That might make some difference, Lydia, for he has such a kind heart. And now I think of it, I wonder if Miss Ellen knows he is expected home so soon."
"She does," said Lydia, "for I told her yesterday, but she didn't seem to care. And I do not think she likes him."
"She is melancholy, poor child! and who can blame her when she has lost her best friend?"
"Why, Mrs. Ruth, cannot young Mr. Lloyd be as good a friend as his father? I am sure he will be as kind."