for a reply. Amidon
repeated the question.

"I want to know if you are sure," said he. "To make a mistake in that
direction would be worse than the other, you know."

"Ah, would it?" said Clara; "I didn't know that!"

"Oh! I think we may take that for granted."

"You really don't get a grain of good from your Brassfield experience,"
said she, "or you'd know better." Here ensued a long silence, during
which Amidon appeared to be pondering on her extraordinary remark.

"But, as to the fact," urged he at last, "how can you guess out any
such state of things as you describe?"

"Can't _you_ guess a little bit more once in a while? I know about it,
from Mr. Brassfield's treatment--of--of me--when I made him think--that
I--was Elizabeth! Oh, don't you see that I had to do it, so as to
know, and tell you? Oh, I wish I had never, never begun this! I do, I
do!"

A parlor-car has no conveniences whatever for heroics, hysterics or
weeping, so miserably are our American railways managed; and Clara
winked back into her eyes the tears which filled them, and Amidon
looked at her tenderly.

"Did I, really," said he confusedly--"to you?"

"M'h'm," said Madame le Claire, nodding affirmatively; "I couldn't stop
you!"

"It must have been dreadful--for you," said Amidon.

"Awful," said she; "but the work had to be done, you know."

"Oh, if it were you, now," said he, laying his hand on hers, "I could
do it, if you didn't mind. I--I should like to, you know."

"Now see here," said Clara; "if you're just practising this, as a sort
of rehearsal, you must go further and faster than a public place like
this allows, or you'll seem cold by comparison with what has passed.
If you mean what you say, let me remind you that you're engaged!"

Mr. Amidon swore softly, but sincerely. Somehow, the pitiful case of
the girl who had written that letter with which he had fallen in love,
had less and less of appeal to him as the days drifted by. And now,
while the duty of which he had assured himself still impelled him to
her side, he confessed that this other girl with the variegated hair
and eyes, and the power to annihilate and restore him, the occultist
with the thrilling gaze and the strong, supple figure, was calling more
and more to the aboriginal man within him. So, while he took
Elizabeth's letters from his pocket and read them, to get, if possible,
some new light on her character, it was Clara's face that his eyes
sought,