ted. The goal looks never so fair
as when just within reach of a rival's hand.

A vigorous clapping, followed by a low gush of music, woke him at last
to the realization that the little drama had terminated. With a hasty
movement he was about to return to the parlors, when he heard the low
murmur of voices, and on looking up, saw a youthful couple advancing
into the conservatory, whom at first glance he recognized for Bertram
and Miss Stuyvesant. They were absorbed in each other, and believing
themselves alone, came on without fear, presenting such a picture of
love and deep, unspeakable joy, that Mr. Sylvester paused and gazed upon
them as upon the sudden embodiment of a cherished vision of his own
imaginings. Bertram was speaking ordinary words no doubt, words suited
to the occasion and the time, but his voice was attuned to the beatings
of his long repressed heart, while the bend of his proud young head and
the glance of his yearning eye were more eloquent than speech, of the
leaning of his whole nature in love and protection towards the dainty,
flushing creature at his side. It was a sight to make old hearts young
and a less happy lover sick with envy. In spite of his gratification at
his nephew's success, Mr. Sylvester's brow contracted, and it was with
difficulty he could subdue himself into the appearance of calm
benevolence necessary to pass them with propriety. Had it been Paula and
Mr. Ensign!

He did not know how it was that he managed to find her at last. But just
as he was beginning to realize that wisdom demanded his departure from
this scene, he suddenly came upon her sitting with her face turned
toward the crowd and waiting--for whom? He had never seen her look so
beautiful, possibly because he had never before allowed himself to gaze
upon her with a lover's eyes. She had exchanged her piquant Roman
costume for the pearl gray satin in which Ona had delighted to array
her, and its rich substance and delicate neutral tint harmonized well
with the amber brocade of the curtain against which she sat.

Power, passion and purity breathed in her look, and lent enchantment to
her form. She was poetry's unique jewel, and at this moment, thought
rather than merriment sat upon her lips, and haunted her somewhat
tremulous smiles. He approached her as a priest to his shrine, but once
at her side, once in view of her first startled blush, stooped
passionately, and forgetting everything but the suspense at his heart,