the memories; but the unawakened heart never knows
the precise instant of the quickening. It is wrapped in a half-conscious
wonder and anticipation; and, by the time the full revelation comes, the
impress of the first moments has been wiped out by intenser experiences.
How many lovers have longed to trace the sweet stream back to its very
source, to the hidden spring which no man saw, but have lost themselves
presently in the broad greenness, undisturbed and fertile, through which,
like a hidden stream through an emerald meadow, the love had been flowing
undiscovered.

Months after, when Mercy's thoughts reverted to this evening, all she
could recollect was that on the night of Stephen's first call she had been
much puzzled by his manner and his words, had thought it very strange that
he should seem to care-so much for her, and perhaps still more strange
that she herself found it not unpleasing that he did so. Stephen's
reminiscences were at once more distinct and more indistinct,--more
distinct of his emotions, more indistinct of the incidents. He could not
recollect one word which had been said: only his own vivid consciousness
of Mercy's beauty; her face "framed in evergreens, with the firelight
flickering on it," as he had told her he should always think of it.

Christmas morning came, clear, cold, shining bright. A slight thaw the day
before had left every bough and twig and pine-needle covered with a
moisture that had frozen in the night into glittering crystal sheaths,
which flashed like millions of prisms in the sun. The beauty of the scene
was almost solemn. The air was so frosty cold that even the noon sun did
not melt these ice-sheaths; and, under the flood of the full mid-day
light, the whole landscape seemed one blaze of jewels. When Mercy and her
mother entered Mrs. White's room, half an hour before the dinner-hour,
they found her sitting with the curtains drawn, because the light had hurt
her eyes.

"Oh, Mrs. White!" exclaimed Mercy. "It is cruel you should not see this
glorious spectacle! If you had the window open, the light would not hurt
your eyes. It is the glare of it coming through the glass. Let us wrap you
up, and draw you close to the window, and open it wide, so that you can
see the colors for a few minutes. It is just like fairy-land."

Mrs. White looked bewildered. Such a plan as this of getting out-door air
she had never thought of.

"Won't it make the room too cold?" she said.

"Oh, n