thing."

"It is well, above all, I think, to have a just appreciation of one's own
powers or lack of powers," said Denham, slowly. "Ambition, without the
corresponding strength to gratify it, is a cruel taskmaster."

"How can you tell, till you have tried, that there is no corresponding
strength?" asked Gerald, turning full upon him again. How marvellously
expressive her face was, with its earnest eyes and mobile mouth! "If I
were a man,--and great heavens! how I wish I were one!--I would create
the strength if it were not there of itself. I would force myself upward.
I would never rest till I had become something more than nature
originally made me."

"Then Heaven be thanked, who has spared us the monstrosity you would have
developed into under the harrowing circumstances of a reversal of your
sex," said De Forest, devoutly.

"I was always glad you were a woman. Now I am positively aglow with
gratitude for it."

Denham was silent. They had reached Mrs. Lane's now, and Gerald and her
cavalier paused.

"I have not hurt you, Mr. Halloway, have I?" said Gerald, more gently. "I
know I sometimes speak strongly where I am least qualified to do so."

"A very womanly trait," put in De Forest. "Don't apologize for your one
redeeming weakness."

"No, you have not hurt me," said Denham, in a low voice. "I hope you have
done me good." And without adding even a good-night or a message for
Phebe, he lifted his hat and crossed over to the rectory. His sister was
not there as he entered her sitting-room, and throwing himself down on
the sofa, clasped his hands over his forehead and stared thoughtfully up
at the ceiling. She had been sitting with Phebe while the Lane household
went to its various churches, Phebe was tired, in consequence of the
entire population of Joppa having run in to ask after her between
services "on their way home," and she was not talking much. But only to
look up and smile into Soeur Angelique's sweet face was pleasure enough
for the girl, and she lay very quietly, holding a rose that Denham had
sent her over by his sister, and feeling supremely contented.

"How would you like me to read to you?" asked Mrs. Whittridge at last,
taking up a book. "Shall I try it?"

"No, thank you. I am afraid my thoughts would be louder than your words,
and I should be listening to them and losing what you are saying."

"And, pray, what are these remarkably noisy thoughts?" asked the lady.
"Let me listen and hear them