He was thinking of her now, and as he thought visions of a sweet, pale face, shadowed with curls of golden hair, came up before his mind, and he saw again the look of bewildered surprise and pain which shone in the soft, blue eyes and illumined every feature when in an unguarded moment he gave vent to the half infidel principles he had learned from his uncle.
Her creed was different from his, and she explained it to him so earnestly, so tearfully, that he had said to her at last he did but jest to hear what she would say, and, though she seemed satisfied, he felt there was a shadow between them--a shadow which was not swept away, even after he promised to read the little Bible she gave him and see for himself whether he or she were right.

He had that Bible now hidden away where no curious eye could find it, and carefully folded between its leaves was a curl of golden hair.

It was faded now, and its luster was almost gone, but as often as he looked upon it, it brought to mind the bright head it once adorned, and the fearful hour when he became its owner.

That tress and the Bible which inclosed it had made Hugh Worthington a better man.

He did not often read the Bible, it is true, and his acquaintances were frequently startled with opinions which had so pained the little girl on board the _St.Helena_, but this was merely on the surface, for far below the rough exterior there was a world of goodness, a mine of gems, kept bright by memories of the angel child which flitted for so brief a span across his pathway and then was lost forever.