! What danger is about you, child?"

They were instinct with his love. They were eager with his visionary
fear. It only needed a human heart to interpret them.

Glory drew back as he sprang to his feet, and noiselessly disappeared.
She would not have him know that she had heard this cry with which he
waked.

"He dreamed about her! and he called her Faith. How beautiful it is to
be cared for so!"

Glory--while we have so long been following Faith--had no less been
living on her own, peculiar, inward life, that reached to, that
apprehended, that seized ideally--that was denied, so much!

As Glory had seen, in the old years, children happier than herself,
wearing beautiful garments, and "hair that was let to grow," she saw
those about her now whom life infolded with a grace and loveliness she
might not look for; about whom fair affections, "let to grow," clustered
radiant, and enshrined them in their light.

She saw always something that was beyond; something she might not
attain; yet, expectant of nothing, but blindly true to the highest
within her, she lost no glimpse of the greater, through lowering herself
to the less.

Her soul of womanhood asserted itself; longing, ignorantly, for a soul
love. "To be cared for, so!"

But she would rather recognize it afar--rather have her joy in knowing
the joy that might be--than shut herself from knowledge in the content
of a common, sordid lot.

She did not think this deliberately, however; it was not reason, but
instinct. She renounced unconsciously. She bore denial, and never knew
she was denied.

Of course, the thought of daring to covet what she saw, had never
crossed her, in her humbleness. It was quite away from her. It was
something with which she had nothing to do. "But it must be beautiful to
be like Miss Faith." And she thanked God, mutely, that she had this
beautiful life near her, and could look on it every day.

She could not marry Luther Goodell.

"A vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast";

But, unlike the maiden of the ballad, she could not smother it down, to
break forth, by and by, defying the "burden of life," in sweet bright
vision, grown to a keen torture then.

Faith had read to her this story of Maud, one day.

"I shouldn't have done so," she had said, when it was ended. "I'd rather
have kept that one minute under the apple trees to live on all the rest
of my days!"

She could not marry Luther Goodell.

Wou