ignorant of what every one else
knows?" queried Miss Kling, with a malicious sparkle in her eyes; "that
they are just the same as engaged."

Nattie turned a very pale face towards her.

"I--I think you are mistaken," she faltered.

"Mistaken! no indeed!" said Miss Kling, positively; "I should think your
own eyes might tell you that! Why, Mrs. Simonson says, Miss Archer has
thought of nobody but him since he came into the house, and that anybody
can tell he is in love with her, from his actions and the attentions he
pays her, and Celeste told me the same thing, long ago. But I suppose
Miss Archer is willing he should come home with _you_. She isn't, of
course, jealous of _you!_"

There was a sneering emphasis in Miss Kling's last words, that made them
anything but complimentary, as Nattie felt; but saying only, in a voice
she vainly tried to steady,

"You may be right," she went into her own room, and locked the door
behind her.

She knew now! knew what that first romantic acquaintance, that dejection
at the companionship lost in the obnoxious red-head, that joy when "C"
was restored to her in Clem, that unsatisfied desire to have him back on
the wire, all to herself; that suppressed jealousy of Cyn, led to--and
what it all meant; that she loved him! and he, did he, as they said,
love Cyn? alas! who could help loving bright, beautiful Cyn? To attract
him to herself was only the romance of their first acquaintance--and
even this Cyn slightly shared; it was not Cyn's fault. Nattie could not
be guilty of the petty meanness of disliking her friend because she
possessed attractions superior to her own. But if he loved Cyn, then,
indeed, had the curtain fallen on the sad ending of her romance; the
lights were out, and all was darkness. _If_ he loved Cyn? Nattie, with the
first full knowledge of her own feelings, could hardly hope otherwise,
remembering their intimacy, his marked attention to her, his praise of
her, and her winning beauty and talents. Yes, it must be that he loved
her! Oh, why must Cyn be given everything, and she--nothing? What kind
of fate was it that marked out the broad, sunny road for one, and the
somber, uneven pathway for another? Must her life be one of lonely
discontent, a telegraph office at the beginning, and a telegraph office
at the end? was this to be all?

"No!" thought Nattie, raising her head proudly, and looking at the red
and swollen eyes that gazed at her from the opposite glass. "Li