secretary. Since the night of Dr. Varian's death, it had been her custom to read a chapter.

I am afraid both girls were indifferent listeners. Such a pleasant evening was an event in their lives that sent the warm blood through their veins in rapid currents, quite beyond the control of girlish, undisciplined Rose.

"That's the new teacher, Barbara. Isn't he entertaining?" she exclaimed, after the reading was finished.

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'I heard him sing in church on Sunday," was Barbara's comment, He has something better than teaching in his brains."

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'I dare say, at least, the teaching of a country school. Dr. Brevoort - how will that sound?"

Barbara fastened the windows and lighted another candle. Claudia rose as if she was tearing herself away from some fascination. In the gray ashes, fallen around the smouldering logs, she saw a vision. A sad-faced woman, sitting over the ruins of her dead youth. praise her!

Ah, what if the nations afar off did

The three women ascended the solid oaken stairway, well worn and carpetless, but white with the labor of Barbara's strong hands. They entered the room over the kitchen hers. They had a habit of coming this way to say good night. The chamber was in neatest order. A high-post bedstead, with a snowy canopy and short curtains, edged with knotted fringe, seemed its chief glory. The bed was covered with a patchwork quilt of intricate design; the cover of the little toilet table vied with the snowiness of the canopy; the floor with the whiteness of the stairs.

The apartment beyond was larger, and contained two beds. One, a dainty little maple bedstead, very modern, and, in Barbara's opinion, very heathenish. It had been purchased a year or two before, to her great discomfort. The other was quaintly old-fashioned, with a high carved head-board. Claudia had shocked Barbara by having the legs ruthlessly shortened at

the advent of its companion. She believed most devoutly in a good Christian bed, that went up several degrees towards heaven. Perhaps she thought there was less danger of being troubled with evil dreams. But Claudia had no fancy for sleeping in the moon.

Indeed, she seemed to have but little fancy for sleeping at all this night. The whole current of her life appeared changing. Sorely against her will, she was drifting from the old content into a new and boundless realm. Instead of quiet skies, here was perplexity, fear. And she, like too many other poor souls, had to grope her way in the darkness alone.

III.

PAST AND PRESENT.

JOHN BREVOORT walked rapidly a mile or more.

Before he had reached the end of his journey he began to think in this fashion:

"What an odd, delightful evening. But for the quaint surroundings I might have fancied myself back in the city. Who would have dreamed of finding two such girls in that lonely old tumble-down! Although they seem to understand the world so well, I question if they ever had a glimpse of it. So different from anything in Crofton ! And that Claudia- - with what a regal air she said My mother was a descendant of the old May-Flower pilgrims.' She has their pure pride, their stamina, their lofty, rigid port. How hard and cold, how pitiless she could be! No, I don't like those old pilgrims over well. They savor too strongly of witch-burning, and the like. May be her clear eyes could not have been so easily blinded. What eyes for a woman fair and young! Not handsome, as that bright, piquant Rose. O, Rose of the world, what a stir you would make in a gay city. Your loveliness is wasted upon

the desert air of Crofton.

"No wonder people in this stupid little place pronounce them peculiar. Very far indeed in advance of the Croftonites. I wonder if strangers ever talked in such a fashion before uttered so many truths, paid so little heed to conventionalities. You cannot put Claudia off with a jest or sham argument. She will know the truth. I promise myself a deal of pleasure in their companionship during the long winter evenings. It exhilarates like rare wine. John Brevoort, you have fallen

into Paradise, figuratively speaking. But beware of a more dangerous fall. There's too stern a battle still before you, too much hard work yet to be done, for you to indulge in dreams of love and luxury. Love-pshaw!"

And being forewarned, he thought himself forearmed. It is not always so, however.

"There's no danger," he mused on. "Claudia would carry herself loftily she's too full of schemes and plans at present, and she isn't the sort of woman ever to need love. Rose, I suspect, is an arrant flirt, or would be, were the fates propitious. But she is lovely and clinging, and full of slumberous fire. The Greek blood warms her up like one of her own sunsets. I am not sure but she will be my favorite. "What was it Claudia said about the ivy? Ugh! it chills me to the bone. I shall never love ivy again. And her prophetic voice! I think she would despise weakness of any Well, I am not afraid. Yet strong women seem anomalies. We want them to be dependent, tender darlings. What do we ask of them but love? We can fight our own battles. Ministering angels, when one has the headache, which I never have, or the heartache ; and he began to whistle Aileen Aroon, but in a subdued manner.

kind.

There was no fire at Mrs. Green's to sit and muse over. I doubt if the brightest fire could have tempted him into such folly. In five minutes from the time his head touched the pillow he was asleep. Very unromantic for a hero, I grant; but it was the result of youth, a well disciplined mind, and perfect health.

In the silence and darkness brooding tenderly over the world, my eyes are wakeful with visions of these two young girls and their future. It did not seem as if anything unusual could befall them in this quiet country village. And yet they wrought out a strange romance. Love and tragedy are everywhere.

"Some must watch while others sleep:

Thus runs the world away."

When we feel most secure, some net is being woven, some

chain forged that spans the swelling ocean of our inner life. We meet for a brief while, and part, never to be the same again. A word is spoken that changes our whole course. Some virtue is gone out of us, or it may be added from another Overflowing heart. O, does God heed it all? It is so hard always to believe, always to be strong.

I am glad I gave you that glimpse of Claudia before she turned definite page any of her strange, eventful future. Walking down from Crofton Rock, pure, peaceful, sufficient for herself, -I should like to linger over her with a little tender pity. I can hardly bear to plunge into the depths that were given her to walk through.

But first, something about their past. You will understand them both better.

The Standish race had always been brave and sturdy. What the old heroes did is nothing to my story-you will find some of their deeds in history. More than once they had swarmed from this old house to lay the corner-stone of a new edifice. Over the wide world. - with health and energy, it mattered little where. At last there was left here Grosvenor Standish and his wife, both old people, and their sweet daughter, Honoria, the last of their many children,—for this branch of the family seemed falling into decay, like the old house.

Honoria went to the city, Albany, for a visit at her uncle's. It was the great event of her life. Here she met Dr. Varian, a young physician, and they fell straightway in love with one. another. He was impulsive, and not much given to careful consideration, or reflection of any sort. His wooing was fervent, and resulted in an engagement.

But sorrow met the lovers on the very threshold of their glad life. Mr. and Mrs. Standish would not give up their child, neither could they consent to leave the spot so dear to them at their time of life. If Dr. Varian would come to CroftonThey might as well have asked him to cut off his right hand, or pluck out his right eye. When he saw how Honoria drooped