opened his eyes,
and said,

"Well, Fanny, dear!"

"Well, Alfred, dear!" and Fanny leaned toward him, with her head poised
like that of a black snake. Alfred was fascinated. Perhaps he was sorry
he was so; perhaps he wanted to struggle. But he did not. He was under
the spell.

There was still a lingering silence. Fanny waited patiently. At length
she asked again, putting her hand in her lover's:

"Are you ready?"

"Yes!" said Alfred, in a crisp, resolute tone.

Fanny raised her hand and rang the bell. The waiter appeared.

"John, I want a carriage immediately."

"Yes, Miss."

"And, John, tell Mary to bring me my things. I am going out."

"Yes, Miss." And hearing nothing farther, John disappeared.

It was perhaps a judicious instinct which taught Fanny not to leave
Alfred alone by going up to array herself in her own chamber. The
intervals of delay between the coming of the maid and the coming of the
carriage the young woman employed in conversing dexterously about Boston,
and the friends he had seen there, and in describing to him the great
Kingfisher ball.

Presently she was bonneted and cloaked, and the carriage was at the door.

Her home had not been a Paradise to Fanny Newt--nor were Aunt Dagon,
Papa and Mamma Newt, and brother Abel altogether angels. She had no
superfluous emotions of any kind at any time; but as she passed
through the hall she saw her sister May--the youngest child--a girl of
sixteen--Uncle Lawrence's favorite--standing upon the stairs.

She said nothing; the hall was quite dim, and as the girl stood in the
half light her childlike, delicate beauty seemed to Fanny more striking
than ever. If Uncle Lawrence had seen her at the moment he would have
thought of Jacob's ladder and the angels ascending and descending.

"Good-by, May!" said Fanny, going up to her sister, taking her face
between her hands and kissing her lips.

The sisters looked at each other, each inexplicably conscious that it was
not an ordinary farewell.

"Good-by, darling!" said Fanny, kissing her again, and still holding her
young, lovely face.

Touched and surprised by the unwonted tenderness of her sister's manner,
May threw her arms around her neck and burst into tears.

"Oh! Fanny."

Fanny did not disengage the arms that clung about her, nor raise the
young head that rested upon her shoulder. Perhaps she felt that somehow
it was a benediction.

May raised her head at length, kissed Fanny gently upon t