with my foot out behind to steer. Immediately we shot down the first
descent, and as I straightened the course of the quick-flying leaf of
maple wood, I felt it correspond as if intelligently. The second descent
spurred our rate to an electric speed. As I bent forward, the snow
flying against my face, the sound of sliding growing louder and
shriller, and my foot demanding a sterner pressure to steer, a surge of
exhilarating emotions suddenly rushed over me, and a thought cried "This
is Alexandra! Alexandra whom you love."

"Alexandra!" my heart returned, "I am so near you!" Her two thick golden
plaits of hair fell just before my eyes. She was sitting calm and
straight. The toboggan shot on like a flash, and the drift beat fiercely
in my eyes. But why should I heed? Away! Away! Leave everything behind
us and speed thou out with me, love, into some region where I can reveal
to thee alone this earnest soul which thou has awakened into such
devotion!

Yet lo, our race slackening, the moment was even then over, and having
carried us straight as an arrow, the toboggan undulated gracefully like
a serpent over a little rising in the path and came to a stand. She
rose. The light of the rising moon just enabled me to still catch the
threaded yellow of her hair and the translucent complexion.

One had been following us closely. "Permit me--this next is ours, Miss
Grant," he said, hastening eagerly forward to her, and I saw it was
Quinet.

I marked the deference which every one, old and young, paid to her, and
at the house afterwards I looked on while a boisterous knot were
teaching her euchre.

"Change your ace," whispered Annie Lockhart, that pretty gambler.

"But," she replied aloud in her frank, innocent manner, "_Wouldn't that
be wrong?_"

The words came to me with the force of an oracle.

"Let me bow my head," I thought, "My patron! My angel!" and as I looked
upon her, passionate reverence overpowered me.

"What am I that I dare to love you and raise my eyes towards your pure
light? I am not worthy to love you!"

"And you are so beautiful!"

As my meditations were pouring along in this absorbed way, a friend of
ours, Grace Carter, a girl of the light, subtly graceful English type
and a gay confidence of leadership, came across the room.

"O Mr. Haviland," she cried, "I've been watching your dolorous
expression till I determined to learn how you do it!"

I half smiled at her, helplessly.

"It is thoroughly