ssion.

Meanwhile, in a room overhead, another last scene in this most futile
of dramas was passing. Rose, when she came in, had locked the door, torn
off her dress and her ornaments, and flung herself on the edge of her
bed, her hands on her knees, her shoulders drooping, a fierce red spot
on either cheek. There for an indefinite time she went through a torture
of self-scorn. The incidents of the week passed before her one by one;
her sallies, her defiances, her impulsive friendliness, the elan, the
happiness of the last two days, the self-abandonment of this evening.
Oh, intolerable--intolerable!

And all to end with the intimation that she had been behaving like a
forward child--had gone too far and must be admonished--made to feel
accordingly! The poisoned arrow pierced deeper and deeper into the
girl's shrinking pride. The very foundations of self-respect seemed
overthrown.

Suddenly her eye caught a dim and ghostly reflection of her own figure,
as she sat with locked hands on the edge of the bed, in a long glass
near, the only one of the kind which the Rectory household possessed.
Rose sprang up, snatched at the candle, which was flickering in the air
of the open window, and stood erect before the glass, holding the candle
above her heart.

What the light showed her was a slim form in a white dressing-gown, that
fell loosely about it; a rounded arm up-stretched; a head, still crowned
with its jessamine wreath, from which the bright hair fell heavily
over shoulders and bosom; eyes, under frowning brows, flashing a proud
challenge at what they saw; two lips, 'indifferent red' just open to let
the quick breath come through--all thrown into the wildest chiaroscuro
by the wavering candle flame.

Her challenge was answered. The fault was not there. Her arm dropped.
She put down the light.

'I _am_ handsome,' she said to herself, her mouth quivering childishly.
'I am. I may say it to myself.'

Then, standing by the window, she stared into the night. Her room,
on the opposite side of the house from Langham's, looked over the
cornfields and the distance. The stubbles gleamed faintly; the dark
woods, the clouds teased by the rising wind, sent a moaning voice to
greet her.

'I hate him! I hate him!' she cried to the darkness, clenching her cold
little hand.

Then presently she slipped on to her knees, and buried her head in
the bed-clothes. She was crying--angry stifled tears which had the hot
impatience of yout