a few squares, and then returned to his hotel, more oppressed than when
he went out.

Did ever time move so slowly before? Would the morning never pass? He
wrote some urgent letters, read the damp morning paper, without the
slightest notion of contents, and went down to his breakfast, to come
away again leaving it untasted. Eight o'clock! The earliest possible hour
at which it would be proper to call on Miss Harrison was eleven. Three
mortal hours first! How should he ever endure it? She might be very ill.
She might even be dying? Archer, with the foolish inconsistency of love,
magnified every evil until he was nearly beside himself with dread, lest
she might be worse that Miss Lee had represented.

Nine o'clock struck; he was walking the floor in a state of nervous
excitement which would have forced him ere long to have broken all rules
of etiquette and taken his way to Harrison House, had not fate saved him
the necessity.

A waiter entered, and brought in a letter and a package. He snatched them
both, and saw they were directed in Margie's handwriting. For a moment
his heart stood still with a deadly fear. Great drops of perspiration
covered his forehead, and he dropped letter and package to the floor.
Why was she writing to him when she must expect to see him in a few
hours? And that package! what did it contain?

He picked it up, and tore off the wrappings. The betrothal ring rolled
out and fell with a hollow sound on the floor. The ring he had put upon
her finger--the ring he had seen her kiss more than once! He looked over
the contents of the box hurriedly; every little thing he had ever given
her was there, even to a bunch of faded violets!