at the miserable annuity upon which the Professor rested
peacefully as a provision for his widow and child, died with the former.
It was scarcely credible that a man should be so regardless of his own
family, but the echo of the mystic, sublime discourses of the Greek
porches, the faint but sacred trace of the march of vast armies, and the
fall of nations, caused Leslie to dwindle into a mere speck in the
creation. Of course she would be provided for somehow: marry, or make
her own livelihood. Socrates did not plague himself much about the fate
of Xantippe: Seneca wrote from his exile to console his mother, but the
epistles were for the benefit of the world at large, and destined to
descend to future generations of barbarians.

What a frank, single-hearted young girl she seemed to Hector
Garret--intelligent, capable of comprehending him in a degree, amusing
him with her similes and suggestions; pretty, too, as one of those wild
roses or pinks that she prized so highly, though she wore a sober,
green, flowered silk dress. He should like to see her in a white gown.
He supposed that was not a convenient town wear. Pope had unmasked
women, but he could not help thinking that a fresh, simple, kind young
girl would be rather a pleasant object of daily encounter. She would
grow older, of course. That was a pity; but still she would be
progressing into an unsophisticated, cordial, contented woman, whom
servants would obey heartily--to whom children would cling. Even men had
a gush of tenderness for these smiling, unobtrusive, humble mothers; and
best so in the strain and burden of this life.

Leslie knew nothing of these meditations. She only understood Hector
Garret as a considerate friend, distinguished personally, and gifted
mentally--for her father set great store upon him--but, unlike the gruff
or eager servants to whom she was accustomed, condescending to her
youth and ignorance, and with a courtesy the nearest to high-breeding
she had ever met. She was glad to see Hector Garret, even if he did not
bring a breath of the country with him. She parted from him with a sense
of loss--a passing sadness that hung upon her for an hour or two, like
the vapour on the river, which misses the green boughs and waving woods,
and sighs sluggishly past wharfs and warehouses.

It was a still greater surprise to Leslie when Hector Garret came again
the next evening. He had never been with them on two successive days
before. She supposed