interest should lead her to
question him upon his past life, his home, his associates, even his
thoughts. And often it as naturally happened that, while he spoke, the
music of his voice lulled her into forgetfulness of all but the past,
and she would find herself unconsciously relaxing from the somewhat
frigid dignity which she felt called upon to assume, until her features
must have glowed with some expression of her former familiar kindness.
For she would be suddenly startled back into her forced propriety by a
strange and troubled look of puzzled thought flitting across his face--a
look which she could read and analyze better than he could; for it told
her that, without any real suspicion of the truth, he was wondering at
the likeness of that beaming face which bent over him to something which
he had seen elsewhere in the past.

There was one morning that he sat before her by a little table where he
had been writing a letter at her dictation. The letter was folded and
sealed, and then ensued one of those vacant intervals when each, having
no pressing task at hand, remains for a few moments listlessly thinking
what shall be done next. At that instant Leta passed through the
room--bowing low as she moved before her mistress, and throwing out
toward Cleotos from the corner of her dark eye one of those aggravating
looks in which friendly interest in him and pleasure at his sight were
mingled with a certain cruel warning against any renewal of past
memories. Cleotos retorted with a similar careless greeting, expressive
of simple friendliness, unconscious of any warmer emotion. But he had
not yet perfectly learned his part; for, as Leta passed out of the room,
the quiver of his lip showed how difficult had been the task of
mastering his forced smile even for that moment.

'Poor boy!' said, AEnone, as she witnessed the effort. 'You have not yet
learned not to love her.'

'Not yet, indeed, my mistress,' he responded. 'But it seems as though I
knew the task better than last week, and would know it still better a
week hence. What can I say? It is not to be thought that I should lapse
in a moment into real indifference, even though I may find out that she
is unworthy of love. There cannot but be an interval during which the
heart will struggle against the judgment, and lead to foolish longings
after what has passed.'

'True, indeed,' said AEnone.

'And still, in my heart, I sometimes almost think that I have never
loved h