And Ben thought he noticed, that, though nervous from the excitement, she did not appear to evince much sympathy for her companion. The latter soon recovered his senses sufficiently to keep his feet, and supporting himself by the young lady's arm prepared to leave. As he was moving off he turned upon Ben and said, with a malevolent scowl: "I will remember you, sir."
"I trust, miss, you will pardon me for my rudeness," said our hero, addressing the young lady and ignoring her companion. "I am very sorry for what has occurred. Here is his pistol. I hope the next time he draws it, it will be in defence of a more manly action than striking one too small to defend himself." And he handed the revolver to the young lady, who received it with a simple "thank you, sir." Ben lifted his hat courteously, and the fair one returned a smile and an inclination of her head; and the three separated.
Our friend stood watching the retreating figures of the lady and her escort, until they were lost in the darkness, and then, instead of resuming his walk, he leaned against a neighboring wall, while his thoughts continued to follow the owner of the great, glorious, gray eyes in the nubia.
Unconscious of his surroundings, his mind basked in the light of the bewildering glances, and his ears danced to the music of the voice that had proceeded from out the folds of the snowy nubia. Ben had a large circle of young lady acquaintances, and, being a fellow of culture and good looks, was a favorite with the fair sex. Among them might have been numbered many attractive and polished misses, some of whom had treated our hero more than cordially. But for all he retained the same simple feeling of friendship,—and, nothing deeper. There was a latent feeling in the young man's composition that had never been touched until that evening. A wonderful change had now come over him. He felt that she of the nubia was a fragment (and a pretty large one) of his own existence. And it is singular, yet true, should he never again have set eyes upon her, there would have remained for life a tender memory in his heart that nothing could have displaced.
There is many a heart, going about this world to-day, with just such an uncompleted vision, locked up as a sacred secret within.
"Pshaw!" he said to himself, "we probably will never meet again." At the same time there was a small voice, aiding and abetting a sanguine hope, which kept saying: "Yes you will, Ben. Depend upon it, you will, my boy!"
Happening to look up from his musings, he discovered the cause of the recent encounter standing a few feet away, attentively observing him. The lad, finding his presence noticed, approached closer and said in a singularly soft, pleasant voice:
"I thank you ever so much. I chanced to run against that man in the dark, and he called me a thief. I called him a liar. Then he struck me. I'm no thief!"
"Do you know the man?" asked Ben.
There was considerable hesitancy in the boy's manner as he answered: "No—no—I don't know him. But I will, if I see him again, and I won't forget that he struck me, either."