is matter myself, for it is too
great an insult to be borne patiently without the charge of cowardice."

A few days after, as Clemence was walking, with downcast eyes, in the
direction of her friend's residence, she met in the narrow pathway two
gentlemen, one of whom raised his hat respectfully, and paused to speak
with her.

It was Mr. Gilman, one of the school committee. Clemence respected and
venerated him, and had on many an occasion felt grateful that his
influence was generously exerted in her behalf.

The gentleman paused now to say that he had nothing to do with her
dismissal from school, having used every argument in her favor, in vain.
He concluded by professing himself more than satisfied with her
services, and convinced of her ability as a teacher; desired her to
refer to him for a recommendation to any situation that she might have
in view.

Clemence thanked him gratefully, and walked on with a lightened heart.
She remembered, afterwards, that this gentleman's companion had been
introduced by the name of Burton.

This latter personage had a little burly figure, with head carried very
erect upon a short, thick neck, that looked still shorter from the long,
flowing beard, thickly sprinkled with gray.

He did not look like a "wretch," nor yet, as if he had sufficient energy
or capacity for any deep scheme of villainy. Still she felt sure this
was the individual whose shortcomings and misdeeds generally, she had
heard descanted upon.

Clemence laughed, as she wondered how it was possible for any one to be
so carried away by their feelings, as to be jealous of a submissive
looking little man like this. Yet, having fallen in love with him once
herself, and forgetting that youth had flown, and that the husband of
her youth was only a plodding, middle-aged family man, it was not so
very remarkable that a naturally jealous woman, like Mrs. Charles
Burton, should imagine that her especial property was coveted by all
those of her own sex who were not similarly blessed.

"Poor woman!" thought Clemence, "she is a victim to her own unhappy
temper."

She forgot the circumstance altogether, and it was only recalled to mind
when the village postmaster handed her a letter, which read thus:

MISS CLEMENCE GRAYSTONE:

Miss--On Thursday, the 23d instant, you were seen by certain
parties, on a secluded avenue of this village, in earnest
conversation with two gentlemen,--one of whom was Mr. Char