e, that was lower than common, but deep, like still waters that have
run into dark channels far from the light of day.

"Paula, I want to ask you a question. What would you think of a man
that, with deliberate selfishness, went into the king's garden, and
plucking up by the roots the most beautiful flower he could find there,
carried it into a dungeon to pant out its exquisite life amid chill and
darkness?"

"I should think," replied she, after the first startled moment of
silence, "that the man did well, if by its one breath of sweetness, the
flower could comfort the heart of him who sat in the dungeon."

The glance with which Mr. Sylvester regarded her, suddenly faltered; he
turned with quickness towards the fire. "A moment's joy is, then, excuse
for a murder," exclaimed he. "God and the angels would not agree with
you, Paula."

There was a quivering in his tone, made all the more apparent by its
studied self-possession of a moment before. She trembled where she sat,
and opened her lips to speak, but closed them again, awed by his steady
and abstracted gaze, now fixed before him in gloomy reverie. A moment
passed. The clock ticking away on the mantel-piece seemed to echo the
inevitable "Forever! never!" of Longfellow's old song. Neither of them
moved. At length, in a low and trembling voice, Paula spoke:

"Is it murder, when the flower loves the dark of the dungeon more than
it does the light of day?"

With a subdued but passionate cry he rose hastily to his feet. "Yes,"
said he, and drew back as if he could not bear the sight of her face or
the glance of her eye. "Sunshine is the breath of flowers; sweet wooing
gales, their natural atmosphere. He who meddles with a treasure so
choice does it at his peril." Then as she hurriedly rose in turn,
softened his whole tone, and assuming his usual air of kindly
fatherhood, asked her in the most natural way in the world, what he
could do to make her happy that day.

"Nothing," replied she, with a droop of her head; "I think I will go and
see Cicely."

A short sigh escaped him. "The carriage shall be ready for you," said
he. "I hope your friend's happiness will overflow into your own gentle
bosom, and make the day a very pleasant one. God bless your young sweet
heart, my Paula!"

Her breast heaved, her large, dark, mellow eyes flashed with one quick
glance towards his face, then she drew back, and in another moment left
his side and quietly glided from the room. His