Rose felt herself seated. she heard a voice a long way off asking if she were tired? Fatigued by this Elysium of bliss! She raised her eyes slowly, wearily, as if she feared the light in them.

As if in some strange country,

Claudia came. All this had affected her singularly. She was going home now, and had better take Rose.

"No," Mr. Brevoort said, before she could speak. "As her escort, I will be answerable for her. It will not do to break up the bridal party so early."

Rose made no gesture of dissent. He had surrounded her too completely with his influence for her to free herself in an instant. Claudia moved away. 'He loves her," she thought,

66

as she slowly put on her wrappings.

But Rose came out of her trance, and was tricksy as any sprite. There was no more waltzing; indeed, the merriment after that was rather boisterous and confused, very little to Mr. Brevoort's taste. The candles began to flare in their sockets, the bride to have a worn look. The crisp dresses grew limp and rumpled. It was time for the revelry to end. Rose and Mary took a whispering farewell.

The late moon was sending a pale yellow ray over the brown fields and dusky woods as they drove homeward. Rose, enthusiastic over the evening's enjoyment, and glowing with a new radiance out here under the stars. Lifting her from the wagon, he ran up the path with her in his arms, and stood her on the large stone door-step.

"Thank you," she said.

"You would give as much to a servant."

For a moment they eyed each other steadily. Then he took a step back, and said, "Good night, or rather good morning." She held out her hand. A shimmering softness stole over every feature. She drew nearer, as if under the influence of some spell. He felt her fragrant breath on his cheek their lips met.

He hated to leave her. If the night had only just begun!

His pulses were full of rushing, impetuous life, his brain was dazzled, his strong frame swayed with emotion. Then with a sudden impulse, he tore himself away.

Rose entered the old kitchen, and surveyed herself by the small mirror. What a dangerous, tempting face!

He called me a flirt," and she laughed.

"He gave me some good practice. Why not get all the fun out of life that one can? What will it matter a hundred years hence ?"

Then Rose Varian ran up stairs to bed, and slept until the

next noon.

VI.

AFTER THE WEDDING.

JOHN BREVOORT's usually clear head was rather full of fantastic visions the next day. Some old-fashioned music from a solitary violin floated through it in weird drifts, and a shadowy form danced in the sparkling atmosphere his eyes saw when closed. The children seemed unusually stupid, the day intolerably long. He was so thankful when the last awkward urchin pulled his forelock and made a shuffling bow.

It was faultlessly clear; the crisp west wind bracing and delightful. It blew in his face all the way down to Dame Green's, and cooled the feverish warmth lingering about his temples. Indeed, he went farther than that, and would fain have kept on to the old stone house. What was Rose doing? What subtile mood possessed her now? For she was a study. He had never met any one quite like her. What clowns and dullards these country cubs were not to rave about her! But they could not understand the charm. It was too high and fine; immeasurably above their comprehension.

He turned about suddenly. In five minutes more he would have reached the place. He could see the great sycamore nodding its leafless branches to the dusky forest over yonder. It was growing dark, and Mrs. Green would have supper ready presently.

Having walked off his surplus heat and restlessness, the air of the wide kitchen seemed grateful to him. They were not very stylish at Mrs. Green's. He could have chosen a more elegant home, but he liked the appearance of the house and its mistress, its master being rather a nonentity. There were no

small children and no grown up daughters; the three sons beAnd he had come to Crofton for

ing married and settled away.

rest. The five years of study, hard work, and privation, that he rarely thought of now, but which had told on him in one or two trifles, convinced him that a little easy living for a year would be the most judicious in the long run. His health was perfect, to be sure, and he wanted to keep it so. The struggle before him required his whole manhood's power, for he had high aims.

He had seen a good deal of the real stamina in other young men frittered away in familiar acquaintance with women, attendance at parties, idle evenings, with flirtations that too often engrossed one's time and thoughts unwarrantably. Hitherto he had kept himself clear, and he intended to do so in the future. He was very confident of his strength. He could govern himself with a rigor that made his impulses seem tame and cold; yet he was not cold by nature. He understood and honored his manhood too truly to wish himself deficient in any thought or feeling appertaining to the most complete individuality. I think he was rather proud of the forces he held under control. The shallowness and vulgarity of life never tempted him. His sensuousness, when he came to that, which he rarely did, would always be of the refined type. Drinking, carousing, midnight larks, and all that, of which he had seen considerable in his city experience, simply disgusted him. Or, aping what he could not have in the finest reality, -luxuries, with a frothy outside, stale and mouldy within.

So he chose Dame Green's, because he could live there in a simple fashion, and turn his spare hours to a good account; besides, no inconsiderable item to him, it was a question of money as well. He meant to save enough this year to give him a fair start somewhere. He was not niggardly, but frugal and ambitious. Since he could not have all he desired, he would not waste his means on a paltry substitute.

The savory supper would have tempted one, but Mr. Bre

voort's appetite was not of the delicate order that required forcing. He entertained Mrs. Green with a rehash of the wedding-it had been served up with dinner, but women never weary of recalling their own glad days. The glamour of youth and joy is so sweet!

Mrs. Green lighted another candle afterwards, and placed it upon a little stand, apart. She was a staid, quiet woman, the very soul of neatness and order, but her motions were not abrupt or noisy. There was a soft, pleasant atmosphere about her; she carried her burden of daily toil lightly and easily. Now she cleared away the tea things without any clatter, while her husband lit his pipe and his lantern and went out to do the night chores. Mr. Brevoort stood before the fire, his compact shoulder resting against the mantel-piece, his hands drooping listlessly, his whole demeanor absent and preoccupied. He had two minds. The more sensible one was to read a while, and then go to bed; the stronger, to march over to the Varians; for, truth to tell, he was wild to see Rose. A man governed more by impulse would have started at once - he debated. Reason told him both girls would be fagged out and sleepy; fancy said Rose was like some bright bird that never drooped. He should find her as fresh as last night, only not in white, with those lovely bare shoulders and arms. How the thought of her stirred the blood in one's pulses, sent it through a thousand currents with a glittering rush! But there would be the cool, calm Claudia, looking on with her far-sighted eyes. How these phlegmatic women chilled one! And Barbara glancing about sharply, — this thought knitted his brow with a frown. Since he could not see Rose alone, why go at all? She was what he wanted just now. To rouse the fire, and warmth, and disdain; to half magnetize her; to feel her soft cheek against his.

He went over and snuffed the candle. He sat down and took up some text book. He was in a mood of mingled disappointment and desire. His brain skimmed words that were meaningless, his eyes saw Rose - his senses were steeped in