it was fortunate for Jo's peace of mind that he could not
see her just then, because she was such an interesting "study!"--Cyn
thought it all over, and could not, as she told herself, make out what
it was all about.

"I thought everything was going on so smoothly," she mused, "and now
here is what Clem himself would term a cross on the wire! and no one can
find out where it is! Doesn't she love him, I wonder? I should, if I was
she! Does he love her? if he does not, he is no kind of a hero! Ah! I
know what would test the matter! a crisis! Now, for instance, if the
house would only get on fire, and Nat burn up--that is, almost--and Clem
save her just in time--that is the sort of thing that brings these
heroes to terms in the dramas! but I suppose--everything is so different
in real life--Clem would not wake up in time, and she would burn to a
crisp--or some one else would save her first--Quimby, for instance, he
is always doing something he ought not! no, I don't think it would do to
risk it! nevertheless, I am convinced that a crisis is what is essential
to complete the circuit, telegraphically speaking, or in other words, to
bring down the curtain on every body, embracing everybody, with great
_eclat!_"

CHAPTER XIII.

THE WRONG WOMAN.

Somewhat exultant over the new aspect of affairs, and unable longer to
endure the strain of the load of love he was carrying about with him,
Quimby came to a desperate determination.

This was no other, than to confide in his room-mate, and once dreaded
rival, and then, provided he was not thrown out of the window, or kicked
down stairs, ask his advice about how to render himself clearly
understood by _her_, at the same time relating his former unfortunate
attempt.

This programme he carried into effect one morning, as Clem was blacking
his boots. Perhaps he had made private calculations on a blacking-brush
hitting a man with less damage than some larger article.

"I say, Clem!" Quimby began, "I--I want to ask your advice, you know!"

"I am at your service, my dear boy," replied the unsuspecting Clem,
rubbing away at his boot.

"Well--I--I want to know--the fact is, I--I am boiling over with love!"

"What!" exclaimed Clem, looking up with an amused smile, "you are not in
love with Cyn too, are you?"

"With Cyn, _too_?" These words were balm to the soul of Quimby, and gave
him courage to answer eagerly,

"Ah! no use in that for _me_, you know! It--it is _she_--Mi