put to her without stint or
reserve; she even told him that Crystal had left them on account of
Percy's mad infatuation.

"It was very wrong of Percy to take advantage of her unprotected
situation, and I am sure she went to put a stop to it, and because it
was so awkward for us. Crystal is not like other girls--she does not
care for admiration; people turn round and look after her in the
street because she is so beautiful, but she never seems to notice it."

"No; you are right," he returned, with evident emotion.

As Fern spoke, a scene rose to his memory--a fresh young voice behind
his chair seemed to whisper in his ear, "Oh, king, live forever!" and
there she stood, his dark-eyed Esther, in her girlish loveliness, her
white neck and arms gleaming through lace, a ruby pendant on the
slender round throat, the small head looking so queenly with its coils
of smooth black hair; and he had turned coldly from her, and she never
knew that his was the soul of a lover. "No; you are right," he
answered, gently; "she was as guileless and innocent as a child."

Fern looked at him wistfully; all her heart seemed to go out to this
sad, noble-looking man. Crystal had not said too much in his praise;
but he looked older than she had imagined--for pain and the knowledge
of his shorn and wasted powers had aged him, and there was certainly
no youth in his aspect.

"Oh," she said, eagerly, for she longed to say something that would
comfort him, "I think sometimes that there is no one so good as
Crystal--we have all grown to love her so. She has such high-spirited,
troublesome pupils; but she is so patient with them when they are ill,
she nurses them, and she has more influence over them than the mother;
and she is always so kind and thoughtful, and no one ever sees her
cross. She is angry with Percy sometimes; but then he deserves it; and
she will not take any pleasure, but all she thinks about is to do
little kindnesses for people; and though she is so unhappy that she
has grown quite thin with fretting, she tries not to let us see it."

"Has she told you all about herself?" he asked, in a very low voice.

"Yes, and it is that that makes her so unhappy. Oh, she told me all
about it, and I thought she would never, never stop crying--it preys
upon her mind, and her remorse will not let her be happy: she seems to
dread even forgiveness. 'I go back to him, when I have blighted his
life and darkened his days?' oh! you should have hear