rein upon her, that the even stream of their intercourse had been
unruffled. He had passed from teacher to friendly guide, from guide to
good comrade; but here he was suddenly confronting her--man to woman!

All his misfortune and limitations had but erected a shield of age about
him beneath which smouldered dangerously, but unconsciously, all the
forbidden and denied passions and sentiments of a male creature of early
middle life.

In thinking afterward of the shock Priscilla gave him, Farwell was always
glad to remember that his first thought was for her, her danger, her
need.

"I declare!" he exclaimed. "I did not know you, Priscilla Glenn."

His tone had a new ring in it, a vibration of defence--the astonished
male on guard against the attack of a subtle force whose power he could
not estimate.

"And no wonder. I did not know myself when I first saw myself. Do you
know, Mr. Farwell, I never thought about my--my face, much, but it is
really a--very nice face, isn't it? As faces go, I mean?"

"Yes," Farwell returned, looking at her critically and speaking slowly.
"Yes, you are very--beautiful. I had not thought of it before, either."

"Drop me down, now, in the States, Mr. Farwell, and I fancy that with my
looks and my dancing I might--well, go! What do you think?"

She was preening herself before a small mirror and did not notice the
elderly man, who, under her fascination, was being transformed.

"You're a regular Frankenstein," he muttered, while the consciousness
of the blue eyes in the dusky skin, the long slenderness of her body,
and the hue of her strange hair grew upon him. "Do you know what a
Frankenstein is?"

"No." And now Priscilla, weary of her play and self-contemplation, turned
about and took a chair opposite Farwell. "Tell me."

So he told her, but she shook her head.

"You've only helped me to find myself; you did not make me," she said
with a little sigh. "Oh, Mr. Farwell, I do--much thinking up at Lonely
Farm. The winters are long, and the nights, too. You know there is a
queer little plant beside the spring at the foot of our garden; it has
roots long enough and thick enough for a thing twice its size. It grew
strong and sure underground before it ventured up. It blossomed last
summer; an odd flower it had. I think I am like that. You've taught me
to--well, know myself. I shall not shame you, Master Farwell. You know we
of the lonesome In-Place make friends with strange objects; ever