ed hair was tossed by the child's
restless hands. Eliza, as she entered the kitchen, was, if not a
beautiful girl, a girl on the eve of splendid womanhood; and the young
man, perceiving this almost faltered in his gaze, perhaps also in the
purpose he was pursuing. The words of the lesson he had ready seemed to
be forgotten, although his outward composure did not fail him.

Eliza came near, the child upon her shoulder, looked at him and waited.

"Eliza will hear what you have to say," said Mrs. Rexford.

"Oh," said he, and then, whatever had been the cause of his momentary
pause, he turned it off with the plea that he had not supposed this to
be "the--young lady who--wished to learn about the stove."

She received what he had to say without much appreciation, remarking
that, with the exception of the one key, she had known it before.

As for him, he took up his cap to go. "Good-day, ma'am," he said; "I'm
obliged for your hospitality. Ladies, I beg leave now to retire." He
made his bow elaborately, first to Mrs. Rexford, then in the direction
of the girls.

"My card, ma'am," he said, presenting Mrs. Rexford with the thing he
mentioned.

Then he went out.

On the card was printed, "Cyril P. Harkness, M.D.S."

It was growing so dark that Mrs. Rexford had to go to the window to read
it. As she did so, the young man's shadow passed below the frosted pane
as he made his way between snow-heaps to the main road.

CHAPTER XIV.

Next day Eliza went out with two of the little children. It was in the
early afternoon, and the sun shone brightly. Eliza had an errand down
the street, but every one knows that one does not progress very fast on
an errand with a toddler of two years at one's side. Eliza sauntered,
giving soothing answers to the little one's treble remarks, and only
occasionally exerting herself to keep the liveliness of her older charge
in check. Eliza liked the children and the sunshine and the road. Her
saunter was not an undignified one, nor did she neglect her duty in any
particular; but all the while there was an undercurrent of greater
activity in her mind, and the under-thoughts were occupied wholly and
entirely with herself and her own interests.

After walking in the open road for a little while she came under the
great elm trees that held their leafless limbs in wide arch over the
village street. Here a footpath was shovelled in the snow, on either
side of the sleigh road. The sun was throw