her truthful eyes--no music so
sweet as the sound of her gentle voice--no presence which brought
him so much joy as hers--no being in the world he loved so well. But
she belonged to another--the time had passed when she might have
been won. She could never be his, he said; and with his love he
waged a mighty battle--a battle which lasted days and nights,
wringing from him more than one bitter moan, as with his face bowed
in his hands he murmured sadly, the mournful words, "It might have
been."

Matters were in this condition when J.C. came one day to Hampton,
accompanied by some city friends, among whom were a few young ladies
of the Kelsey order. Maude saw them as they passed the schoolhouse
in the village omnibus; saw, too, how resolutely J.C.'s head was
turned away, as if afraid their eyes would meet.

"He wishes to show his resentment, but of course he'll visit me ere
he returns," she thought. And many times that day she cast her eyes
in the direction of Hampton Park, as the De Vere residence was often
called.

But she looked in vain, and with a feeling of disappointment she
dismissed her school, and glad to be alone, laid her head upon the
desk, falling ere long asleep, for the day was warm and she was very
tired. So quietly she slept that she did not hear the roll of wheels
nor the sound of merry voices as the party from the city rode by on
their way to the depot. Neither half an hour later did she hear the
hasty footstep which crossed the threshold of they door; but when a
hand was laid upon her shoulder and a well-known voice bade her
awake, she started up, and saw before her James De Vere. He had been
to her boarding-place, he said, and not finding her there had sought
her in the schoolhouse.

"I have two letters for you," he continued; "one from your brother,
and one from J.C."

"From J.C.!" she repeated. "Has he gone back? Why didn't he call on
me?"

"He's a villain," thought James De Vere, but he answered simply, "He
had not time, and so wrote you instead," and sitting down beside her
he regarded her with a look in which pity, admiration, and love were
all blended--the former predominating at that moment, and causing
him to lay his hand caressingly on her forehead, saying as he did
so, "Your head aches, don't it, Maude?"

Maude's heart was already full, and at this little act of sympathy
she burst into tears, while James, drawing her to his side and
resting her head upon his bosom, soothed her as