the shadow
of his baleful presence. Thus it happened that evil doubts arose in
Peregrine, and his breast was filled with suspicions. A voice seemed to
whisper to him, "How! Doertje Elverdink confessed her love, and yet it
was mere selfishness, animated by which, she sought to tempt you into
breaking your faith and becoming a traitor to your best friend, poor
Master Flea! You are rich; they say too that a certain frankness and
good-nature, by many called weakness, may procure you the doubtful love
of men and even of women, and she, who now confesses a passion for
you,"--He hastily snatched at the fate-fraught box, and was on the
point of opening it to place the microscopic glass in the pupil of his
eye, and thus reading the thoughts of Rose, but he looked up, and the
pure blue of her bright eyes seemed to be reflected on his inmost soul.
Rose saw and wondered at his emotion.

He felt as if a sudden flash of lightning had quivered through him, and
the feeling of his own unworthiness overwhelmed him.

"How!" said he to himself,--"would you with sinful presumption
penetrate into the sanctuary of this angel? Would you read thoughts,
which have nothing in common with the wretched actions of minds
entangled in earthly considerations? Would you mock the spirit of love
himself, and try him with the accursed arts of dangerous and
supernatural powers?"

He hastily put up the box, with a feeling as if he had committed some
sin that could never be atoned, and, dissolved in sadness, flung
himself at the feet of the terrified Rose, exclaiming, that he was a
wretched sinner, unworthy of the love of so innocent, so pure a being.

Rose, who could not conceive what dark spirit had come over Peregrine,
sank down to him, embraced him, and murmured with tears, "For God's
sake, my dear Peregrine, what is the matter with you? What evil enemy
has placed himself between us? Oh, come--come, and sit down quietly by
me."

Incapable of any voluntary motion, Peregrine suffered himself to be
raised by Rose in silence. It was well that the frail old sofa was
loaded, as usual, with books and the tools for binding, so that Rose
had many things to clear away to make room for Mr. Tyss. By this he
gained time to recover himself, and his first wild passion subsided
into a milder feeling. But if before he had looked like a most
disconsolate sinner, upon whom a sentence of condemnation had been
irrevocably pronounced, he now wore a somewhat silly appear