[To be continued.
EVELYN GRAHAME.
A TALE OF TRUTH.
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BY ELLEN MARSHALL.
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It was at the beginning of my third year at boarding-school, that—being at the time a parlor-boarder—I was called down one day into the drawing-room, to be introduced to a new scholar, who had just arrived. Upon entering, I perceived a young girl of apparently sixteen or seventeen years of age, seated upon an ottoman, and weeping bitterly. She did not raise her head until Madame B——, calling me by name, introduced the stranger to me, as Miss Grahame. The poor girl, whose parents I found had just left her, merely removed her handkerchief from her face, and bowed slightly, without looking at me.
“Ellen,” said Madame B—— to me, “Miss Grahame will share your room; perhaps she would like to be shown to it now.”
I approached, and taking the young girl’s unresisting hand, whispered a few words of encouragement, and led her up stairs to my little sanctum, where, after having assisted her in removing her hat and shawl, I left her, judging by my own experience that she would prefer being alone for a short time. About two hours after, as I was walking in the garden, I heard a soft, sweet voice call me by name. I turned, and saw my new room-mate, who, approaching, extended her hand, and said, in a trembling tone, “You must have thought me very rude, when you were so kind to me; but, indeed, I never was so unhappy before. I feel better now, and have come to ask pardon, and hope to be taken into favor.” It was impossible to resist her sad, winning look, and, with my usual impetuosity, I flung my arms around her, and pressed her to my bosom. From that moment we were sworn friends.