ter's accomplishments which had so
long been an affliction to him. The moment he saw a possibility of a
money return, he even began to plume himself upon his liberality and
sagacity in having educated her. "I've spared nothin'--Sam--in giving
her a----" he searched an instant for a suitable adjective, "a
commodious education." The phrase pleased him so well that he smoked
for awhile contemplatively, so as not to mar the effect of his point.

Sam had listened with, a whirling brain to the old man's quiet story,
which anticipated his own in every point. He could not tell whether he
felt more relieved or disquieted by it. It all seemed clear and
innocent enough; but he felt, with a sinking heart, that his own hopes
were fading fast, in the flourishing prospects of his beloved. He hated
Farnham not less in his attitude of friendly protection than in that
which he had falsely attributed to him. His jealousy, deprived of its
specific occasion, nourished itself on vague and torturing
possibilities. He could not trust himself to talk further with Matchin,
but went away with a growing fire in his breast. He hated himself for
having prematurely spoken. He hated Maud for the beauty that she would
not give him, and which, he feared, she was ready to give to another.
He hated Saul, for his stolid ignorance of his daughter's danger. He
hated most of all Farnham, for his handsome face, his easy smile, his
shapely hands, his fine clothes, his unknown and occult gifts of
pleasing.

"'Tain't in natur," he growled. "She's the prettiest woman in the
world. If he's got eyes, he knows it. But I spoke first, and he shan't
have her, if I die for it."

V.

A PROFESSIONAL REFORMER.

Sleeny walked moodily down the street, engaged in that self-torture
which is the chief recreation of unhappy lovers. He steeped his heart
in gall by imagining Maud in love with another. His passion stimulated
his slow wits into unwonted action, until his mind began to form
exasperating pictures of intimacies which drove him half mad. His face
grew pale, and his fists were tightly clinched as he walked. He hardly
saw the familiar street before him; he had a far clearer vision of Maud
and Farnham by the garden gate: her beautiful face was turned up to the
young man's with the winning sweetness of a flower, and Sam's irritated
fancy supplied the kisses he had watched for in the shadow of the
pear-trees. "I 'most wish't he'd 'a' done it," he growled to hi