Say and Seal, Volume II. Warner Susan

wish her beauty,

      That owes not all his duty

      To gaudy tire or glistring shoetye.

         'Something more than

      Taffeta or tissue can,

      Or rampant feather, or rich fan.

         'More than the spoil

      Of shop, or silk-worm's toil,

      Or a bought blush, or a set smile.'"

      While Miss Essie exclaimed, Miss Harrison stole a look at Faith; who was looking up at the doctor, listening, with a very simple face of amusement. Her thoughts were indeed better ballasted than to sway to such a breeze if she had felt it. But the real extreme beauty of the image and of the delineation was what she felt; she made no application of them. The doctor came to this verse.

         "'A well-tamed heart,

      For whose more noble smart

      Love may be long choosing a dart.'—

      What does that mean, Linden?—isn't that an error in the description?"

      "Poetical license," said Mr. Linden smiling. "Psyche will give you trouble enough, wings and all,—there is no fear you will find her 'tamed'."

      "How is Campaspe in that respect?"

      "She has never given me much trouble yet," said Mr. Linden.

      "What I object to is the 'long choosing'," said the doctor. "Miss deStaff—do you think a good heart should be very hard to win?"

      "Certainly!—the harder the better," replied the lady. "That's the only way to bring down your pride. The harder she is, the more likely you are to think she's a diamond."

      "Mrs. Stoutenburgh!"—

      "What has been the texture of yours all these years, doctor?"

      "He thinks that when he has dined the rest of the world should follow suit—like the Khan of Tartary," said Mrs. Somers.

      "Miss Derrick!" said the doctor—"I hope for some gentleness from you. Do you think such a heart as we have been talking of, should be very difficult to move?"

      Faith's blush was exquisite. Real speech was hard to command. She knew all eyes were waiting upon her; and she could not reason out and comfort herself with the truth—that to them her blush might mean several things as well as one. The answer came in that delicate voice of hers which timidity had shaken.

      "I think—it depends on what there is to move it."

      "What do you call sufficient force?" said Mrs. Somers.

      "I?"—said Faith.—

      "Yes, you," replied the parson's wife with a look not unkindly amused."What sort and degree of power should move 'such a heart'?—to quoteJulius."

      Faith's blush was painful again, and it was only the sheer necessity of the case that enabled her to rally. But her answer was clear. "Something better than itself, Mrs. Somers."

      "I should like to know what that is!" said Mrs. Somers.

      Mr. Linden's involuntary "And so should I"—was in a different tone, but rather drew eyes upon himself than Faith.

      "It's of no consequence to you!" said the doctor, with a funny, mock serious tone of admonition.

      Mr. Linden bowed, acquiescingly.—"Psychology is an interesting study"—he added, in qualification. "But let me return your warning, doctor—you have a formidable rival."

      "Qui donc?"

      "Cupid carried off Psyche some time ago—do you suppose you can get her back?" And with a laughing sign of adieu, Mr. Linden went away.

      Luckily for Faith, she was not acquainted with the heathen mythology; and was also guiltless of any thought of connexion between herself and the doctor's ideal. So her very free, unsuspicious face and laughter quite reassured him.

      "Mr. Linden is an odd sort of person," said Miss Essie philosophically. "I have studied him a good deal, and I can't quite make him out. He's a very interesting man! But I think he is deeper than he seems."

      "He's deeper than the salt mines of Salzburg then!" said the doctor.

      "Why?" said Miss Essie curiously.

      The doctor answered gravely that "there were beautiful things there";—and went on with his reading. And Faith listened now with unwavering attention, till he came to—

         "'Sydnean showers

      Of soft discourse, whose powers

      Can crown old winter's head with flowers.'"

      Faith's mind took a leap. And it hardly came back again. The reading was followed by a very lively round game of talk; but it was not such talk; and Faith's thoughts wandered away and watched round that circlet of brightness that was covered by her glove; scattered rays from which led them variously,—home, to her Sunday school, to Pequot,—and to heaven; coming back again and again to the diamonds and to the image that was in the centre of them. No wonder her grave sweet face was remarked as being even graver and sweeter than usual; and the doctor at last devoted himself to breaking up its quiet. He took her into the library to finish the Rhododendrons—ostensibly—but in reality to get rid of the stiff circle in the other room. The circle followed; but no longer stiff; under the influence of the cold weather and the big fires and good prompting, their spirits got up at last to the pitch of acting charades. Miss Harrison brought down her stores of old and new finery; and with much zeal and success charades and tableaux went on for some length of time; to the extreme amusement of Faith, who had never seen any before. They did not divert her from watching for the sound of Mr. Linden's return; but it came not, and Miss Essie expected and hoped aloud in vain. The hour did come, and passed, at which such gatherings in Pattaquasset were wont to break up. That was not very late to be sure. The Stoutenburghs, and the De Staffs, and finally Mr. and Mrs. Somers, went off in turn; and Faith was left alone to wait; for she had refused all offers of being set down by her various friends.

      It happened that Mr. Linden had been, by no harmful accident but simply by the untowardness of things, delayed beyond his time; and then having a good distance to drive, it was some while after the last visiters had departed when he once more reined up Jerry at the door. No servant came to take him, and Mr. Linden applied himself to the bell-handle. But there seemed a spell upon the house—or else the inmates were asleep—for ring as he would, no one came.

      To fasten Jerry and let himself in were the next steps—neither of which took long. But in the drawing-room, to which he had been ushered in the beginning of the evening, there was now no one. The lights and the fires and the empty chairs were there; that was all. Mr. Linden knew the house well enough to know where next to look; he crossed the hall to a room at the other side, which was the one most commonly used by the family, and from which a passage led to the library. No one was here, and the room was in a strange state of confusion. Before he had well time to remark upon it, Faith came in from the passage bearing a heavy marble bust in her arms. The colour sprang to her cheeks; she set down Prince Talleyrand quickly and came towards Mr. Linden, saying, "There's fire in the library."

      "My dear child!" he said softly, "what is the matter? What are you about?"

      "Why there is fire in the library—it's all on fire, or soon will be," she said hurriedly, "and we are bringing the things out. The fire can't get in here—its a fireproof building only the inside will all burn up. The servants are carrying water to the roof of the house, lest that should catch. I am so glad to see you!"—

      And Miss Sophy and the doctor came in, carrying one a picture, the other an armful of books. Faith ran back through the passage. But before she could set her foot inside the library, Mr. Linden's hand was on her shoulder, and he stepped before her and took the survey of the room in one glance.

      Its condition was sufficiently unpromising. The fire had kindled in a heap of combustible trumpery brought there for the tableaux. It had got far beyond management before any one discovered it; and now was making fast work in that corner of the room and