think he is pretty well done with his wild oats?" "Possibly. But time will tell." "Yes, time proves all things." Some one joining the young men at this point of their conversation, the subject was changed. Greatly amused at what they had done, they little thought how sad the effects of their unguarded words would be. Five minutes afterwards, the young man named Mears, curious to see how Clara had been affected by what he knew she must have heard, moved to another part of the room, in order to observe her without attracting her attention. But she had left the place where she was sitting. His eye ranged around the room, but she was nowhere to be seen. "I'm afraid we've hurt Clara more than we intended," he said, rejoining his friend. "She has vanished." "Ah! Where's Fisher?" "He's at the other end of the room." "We didn't say any thing against the young man." "Not in particular. We made no specifications. There was nothing that she could take hold of." "No, of course not. But I wonder what is going to be the upshot of the matter?" "Nothing very serious, I apprehend." "No. I suppose she will go home and cry her eyes half out, and then conclude that, whatever Fisher may have been, he's perfection now. It's a first-rate joke, isn't it?" Clara Grant had not only left the parlours, but soon after quietly left the house, and alone returned to her home. When her lover, shortly afterwards, searched through the rooms for her, she was nowhere to be seen. "Where is Clara?" he asked of one and another. The answer was-- "I saw her here a moment since." But it was soon very apparent that she was nowhere in the rooms now. Fisher moved about uneasy for half an hour. Still, not seeing her, he became anxious lest a sudden illness had caused her to retire