hat mock poetical vein which ran
through her strange incongruous nature. "And now good-night, dears,"
sighed she. "These are sweet moments, but they are paid for at a price.
Exhausted energies will have repose." She held out her hand to Martha,
who kissed it respectfully, and then waived a graceful adieu to Purvis,
as he retired.

"Sister Zoe has a head for everything," muttered Purvis to Martha.
"There's nothing she's not up to."

"She's very clever indeed!" sighed Martha.

"And this is n't the worst h-hit she has ever made. It was d-deucedly
well done to get in here."

Either Martha did n't concur in the sentiment, or Scroope's satisfaction
did not need any backing, for she made no reply.

"They 've given me a capital room; I fa-fancy Dalton's own, for I found
a heap of old bills and letters in a table-drawer, and something like
a--like a----like a writ"--here he laughed till the tears came at the
drollery of the thought,--"in the pocket of his dressing-gown."

"Good-night," said Martha, softly, as she glided into the little chamber
allotted to her. Poor Martha! Save Nelly's, hers was the saddest heart
beneath that roof. For the first time in all her long years of trial,
a ray of doubt, a flash of infidelity had broken upon her mind, and
the thought of her sister-in-law's infallibility became for a moment
suspected. It was not that abused and outraged submission was goaded
into rebellion; it was dormant reason that was suddenly startled into
a passing wakefulness. It was like one of those fitful gleams of
intelligence which now and then dart across the vacuity of dulled
intellects, and, like such, it was only a meteor-flash, and left no
trace of light behind it. Even in all its briefness the anguish it gave
was intense; it was the delusion of a whole life rent asunder at once,
and the same shock which should convulse the moral world of her thoughts
would rob her of all the pleasantest fancies of her existence. If Zoe
were not all goodness and all genius, what was to become of all the
household gods of the Villino? Titians would moulder away into stained
and smoked panels; "Sevres" and "Saxe" would fall down to pasteboard and
starch; carved oak and ebony would resolve themselves into leather; and
even the friendship of princes and the devotion of philosophers be only
a mockery, a sham, and a snare!

Poor Martha! Deprived of these illusions, life was but one unceasing
round of toil; while, aided by imagination,