tion and a loving nature; but for
this--He turned away and in his abstraction switched his foot with his
cane.

"Then it was in New York that I met Cicely," exclaimed Paula.

He shook off his broodings, turned with a manful gesture, and met her
sweet unfathomable eye, so brilliant with enthusiasm a moment ago, but
at this instant so softly deep and tender.

"And the friendship of Miss Stuyvesant is a precious thing to you?" said
he.

"Few things are more so," was her reply.

He bit his lip and his brow grew lighter. After all, great souls
frequently cling to those of lesser calibre, provided they are true and
unflawed. He would not be discouraged. But his tone when he spoke had
acquired a reverence that did not lessen its music. "You are, then, one
of the few women who believe in friendship?"

"As I believe in heaven."

Looking at her, he took off his hat. Her eye stole to his serious
countenance. "Miss Stuyvesant is to be envied," said he.

"Are friends so rare?"

"Such friends are," said he.

She gave him a bright little look. "Had you been with Miss Stuyvesant,
and she had expressed herself as I have done, you would have said, 'Miss
Fairchild is to be envied,' and you would have been nearer the truth
than now. Cicely's friendship is to mine what an unbroken mirror is to a
little racing brook. It reflects but one image, while mine--" She could
not go on. How could she explain to this stranger that Cicely's heart
was undivided in its regard, while hers owned allegiance to more than
her bosom friend.

"If I were with Miss Stuyvesant now," he declared, too absorbed in his
own ideas to notice the break in hers, "I should still say in face of
this friendship, 'Miss Stuyvesant is to be envied.' I have no mind for
more than one thought to-day," exclaimed he, with a look that made her
tremble.

There are some men who never know in what field to stay the current of
their impetuosity: Clarence Ensign did. He said no more than this of all
that was seething in his mind and heart. He felt that he must prove
himself a man, before he exercised a man's privilege. Besides, his
temperament was mercurial, and never remained long under the bondage of
a severe thought, or an impressive tone of mind. He worshipped the
lofty, but it was with tabor and cymbal and high-sounding lute. A climb
over the stile at the foot of the hill was enough to restore him to
himself. It was therefore with merry eyes and laughing lips that they