as a
man feels the ground, who is near taken off it by a hurricane. Yet she
felt it, for her head drooped more and more.

"Faith," Mr. Linden said, half smiling, half seriously, "what has made
you so sober all this evening--so much afraid of me?"

The quick answer of the eye stayed not a minute; the blush was more
abiding.

"You don't want me to tell you that!"--she said in soft pleading.

"Do you know now who I think has--

'A sweet attractive kind of grace'?"

"O don't, please, speak so, Mr. Linden!" she said bowing her face in
her hands,--"it don't belong to me."--And pressing her hands closer,
she added, "_You_ have made me all I am--that is anything."

"There is one thing I mean to make you--if I live," he answered
smiling, and taking down her hand. "Faith, what do you mean by talking
to me in that style?--haven't you just given me leave to think what I
like of you? You deserve another half hour's silent penance."

A little bit of smile broke upon her face which for an instant she
tried to hide with her other hand. But she dropped that and turned the
face towards him, rosy, grave, and happy, more than she knew, or she
perhaps would have hidden it again. Her eyes indeed only saw his and
fell instantly; and her words began and stopped.

"There is one comfort--"

"What, dear child?"

"That you know what to think," she said, looking up with a face that
evidently rested in the confidence of that fact.

"About what?" Mr. Linden said with an amused look. "I have known what
to think about _you_ for some time."

"I meant that,"--she said quietly and with very downcast eyes again.

"I am not in a good mood for riddles to-night," said Mr. Linden,--"just
what does this one mean?"

"Nothing, only--" said Faith flushing,--"you said--"

She was near breaking down in sheer confusion, but she rallied and went
on. "You said I had given you leave to think what you liked of me,--and
I say it is a comfort that you know _what_ to think."

Mr. Linden laughed.

"You are a dear little child!" he said. "Being just the most precious
thing in the world to me, you sit there and rejoice that I am in no
danger of overestimating you--which is profoundly true. My comfort in
knowing what to think, runs in a different line."

It is hard to describe Faith's look; it was a mixture of so many
things. It was wondering, and shamefaced; and curious for its blending
of humility and gladness; but gladness moved to such a point a