Claudia was used to outbursts of this kind, though Rose had never started on this subject before. Presently she answered,

"I don't know that we could go, Rose.

Thirty-two hundred dollars is not a very large fortune. The income would not be much in a strange place."

"But we could do something for ourselves," was the confident rejoinder.

"What?"

"Work."

"Too indefinite."

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Marry then." Rose's laugh rippled through the room. Her anger had spent itself.

Claudia glanced at her. It did seem a sin to keep such rare, wondrous beauty, buried in a little dull corner of the world.

"Barbara," she asked, " do you suppose it would be possible for us to manage in a city?"

Barbara shook her head gravely; but after a thoughtful pause, answered, —

"It might be done. Yet to sell the place

"A ruinous old tumble-down," interpolated Rose, flip

pantly.

"Miss

"It is home," was Barbara's austere rejoinder. Claudia understands the meaning of that if you do not." "'Tis home where'er the heart is,' sang Rose, pushing back her chair. "And a little love would always make home for me."

Claudia rose as Barbara began to gather up the tea things. She did not care to continue the discussion, and resumed her old seat by the fireside. After a short silence, Rose flitted to other topics. When the room was restored to its former order Barbara brought out her knitting. But Claudia sat and mused.

II.

JOHN BREVOORT.

CLAUDIA sat and mused. She did not stir the fire impatiently, for gold and flame color had no place in this troubled warp. No, I am wrong. It was not troubled. Only a vague, uneasy sense of motion, not the motion or thought itself.

So when another knock sounded at the door it seemed as if Squire Brown must have come for his answer.

head in expectancy.

She lifted her

Barbara took the candle and went to wait on the visitant, a little astonished, it must be confessed, as evening calls at the old gray house were rare. Shielding the candle by holding it. a trifle behind the door, she opened cautiously.

"Is Miss Varian at home?"

A young, rich, full voice. Some chord in it stirred Claudia, albeit it was unfamiliar.

"What?" demanded Barbara, whose ears had been sufficiently acute, but caution exacted ample guarantee.

"Miss Varian." The tone was resolute, decisive. ·

"O, I know," and Rose sprang up, pushing against Barbara in the hall, and holding out her small white hand cordially. "Good evening, Mr. Brevoort."

"Ah, good evening," and the gentleman advanced through the doorway. Rose ushered him into the room.

"My sister," she said; "Mr. Brevoort, Claudia."

A man young in years, but mature in figure, in self-possession, in dignity. Not handsome, but strong, with a great breadth of forehead, and a square, determined face. A kind of vigorous manliness asserted itself in every feature, a will that could hew down forests, bridge rivers, and fight the great

battles of life without one faltering blow. The face would have been cold, almost passionless, but for the mouth. If you could have lowered his forehead, taken some of the resolution out of his eyes, and the defiance from the straight nose, the mouth would have made him weak, easily assailed. It was not small, but curved, girlishly red, and with full, fond lips, lips that might kiss one's soul down to perdition in some transport of ungovernable love. A beautiful, dangerous mouth, if you saw but that alone.

"I ought to apologize for my intrusion," he began, as he gave his hand to Claudia. "But the simple truth is, I had a favor to ask, a selfish reason for coming."

Rose placed a chair for him. Claudia was considering whether she quite approved of this cordial audacity. Yet it sat well on Mr. Brevoort. He was the new school-teacher, and had been a month at his post. But it was evident Rose had made acquaintance by sight as well as by faith.

"Yes. I had gone to my room, and settled myself for the evening, when a remark that I heard you make came into my mind."

"Wonderful!" interrupted Rose. "Claudia would hardly believe that I could utter a sentence worthy of such a fate.” "As being remembered? It also gave me the courage for my present proceeding. And if you will answer as frankly as I ask

?"

"To the half of my kingdom," laughed Rose, archly.

"You were speaking of the library your father left. I undertook to borrow a work from Dr. Shortt, but found that he did not possess it. Would you loan any of yours?"

The question was addressed to Claudia. Her first impulse was to decline, but on second thoughts this appeared churlish. She simply said,—

"Was it a medical work?

"Yes; pardon me if I have been overbold." There was the least inflection of the voice, a slight hint of humility as he

added, "A poor student is sometimes compelled to resort to

such an expedient."

"If it is any

Claudia bowed loftily, it must be confessed. work of recent date I am afraid you will be disappointed. Father's books are old."

"It was a musty old tome that I desired."

66

Will you light another candle, Barbara?"

Taking it, Claudia led the way to the adjoining apartment, a parlor, in country parlance, much larger than the ordinary living-room. The floor was carpeted, and the furniture was neither scant nor mean, although extremely ancient. A large bookcase, whose doors were curtained with faded green moreen, stood grimly against the wall on one side. She tried to turn the key, but the lock was a little rusted and correspondingly stubborn.

"Allow me," and Mr. Brevoort's strong hand was placed, not over hers, he was too gentlemanly for that, — but so near that hers yielded and withdrew — a tacit confession of weakness. "What a fine collection!" and he ran his eyes over it with the discrimination of a scholar. "I don't know whether to feel most thankful for my good fortune, or most regretful for the trouble I shall entail upon you. I should consider it an inestimable privilege to have occasional access to this library." Claudia could not deny the appealing eyes, and said, with a kind of distant graciousness "It is granted."

Her calm superiority piqued him a little; but she did not guess it from the tone in which he said. "Thank you."

After he had found the book he was in search of, his eyes still lingered over the shelves. At last, with a perceptible effort, he turned away. Claudia could not help remarking it.

"You are interested in medicine," she said.

"Yes." There was a look in his face as if he intended to say more, but thought the better of it. "I suppose you rarely trouble them," and he glanced at the volumes.

66

"O, indeed," exclaimed Rose, wearying of her silence, "she does, or at least she used to."

"It interested me very much sometime ago," was her grave

response.

"But why did you not keep on? rapid strides in female education.

You know we are making There are colleges for the

sex, and practicing physicians," he said, in a tone that was not disrespectful, yet somewhat tinged with irony.

"Well, why should there not be?" She turned her calm, clear eyes full upon him.

66

"I don't object," he answered, with an uneasy sensation. 'Only I should not care to have a sister or a wife" the tone was a trifle hesitating-"engage in such pursuits."

66 suppose wives rarely do. It is necessary at times that mothers and sisters should be strong and energetic."

"Yet it seems to me there is always something refined about a true woman's strength. It hurts one's idea of her to think of her being jostled and pushed hither and thither in a crowd of rude men."

"Must men be rude? Is it a law of their nature? •

"Not to honor and purity and delicacy. But when a woman enters the arena, she too often lays aside this invincible armor. Perhaps it cannot be helped. I think men not infrequently discover their finer feelings are worn rough, if not threadbare, by this contact. And we look to woman for our regeneration. That is severe enough task for her."

"How can she guide without strength, without knowledge? Fancy an oak leaning on an ivy."

"The oak you know is not compelled to lean. It has sufficient strength for any blast. Yet doubtless it is grateful for the ivy's clinging love."

"I see an oak before me; it hath been

The crowned one of the woods, and might have flung

Its hundred arms to heaven, still freshly green;

But a wild vine around the stem hath clung,

From branch to branch close wreaths of bondage throwing,

Till the proud tree, before no tempest bowing,

Hath shrunk and died these serpent folds among."

Claudia repeated this in a kind of chanting monotone, that