to fix the attention at a glance, and keep herself in the
memory for ever--a grand, noble woman, with honor and strength, and
beautiful depths of character, apparent even in her thoughtful repose.

But this woman shakes off the reverie that has held her so long in
thrall, and looks up at the sound of a voice within the room, blushing
guiltily like a young girl aroused from her first love thoughts. She
casts aside the remembrance of black fruited olive groves and orange
trees sheeted with snowy fragrance, and knows of a truth that she is at
home surrounded by the gorgeous woods of America, in the clear chill air
inhaled with the first breath of her life.

"Did you speak, James?"

She turned quietly and looked within the room. Near her, sitting with
his elbows on a small table and his broad forehead buried in the palms
of his hands, sat a man of an age and presence that might have befitted
the husband of a woman, at once so gentle and so proud as the one who
spoke to him; for even in the light produced by the gleams of a dull
fire and the dusky sunset, as they floated together around his
easy-chair, you could see that he was a man of thought and power.

The man looked up and, dropping his hands to the table with a sort of
weariness, answered, as if to some person away off--

"No, I did not speak--I never did speak!"

It was a strange answer, and the lady's face grew anxious as she looked
upon him. Certainly he had uttered some sound, or she would not have
asked the question. She arose and moving across the room, leaned her
elbow upon his chair, looking thoughtfully down in his face.

He started, as if but that moment conscious of her presence, and arose
probably to avoid the grave questioning of her look.

"Of what were you thinking, James?" she said almost abruptly, for a
superstitious thought forced the question to her lips almost against her
will.

"I was thinking," said the man, resting his head against the oak
carvings of his chair, "I was thinking of a time when we were all in the
south of Spain."

"Of your mother's death?" inquired the lady in a low voice. "It was a
mournful event to remember. What is there in this soft twilight to
remind us both of the same thing, for I was thinking of that time also!"

"Of my mother's death?" inquired the gentleman, lifting his eyes to her
face suddenly, almost sternly. "I was not thinking of that, but of my
father's marriage."

The lady did not speak, but her face