er cousin laughed.

'But that is only when Russ and I are not reading up for exams. What do
you find to occupy your leisure?'

'Leisure!' exclaimed Belle solemnly. 'Leisure, my dear boy, has been an
unknown quantity ever since I undertook to pilot this most inexorable
young woman among the antiquities of our venerable city. She is an
inveterate relic-hunter; is enraptured with Bunker Hill and the Old
South; delights in Cornhill, and wherever she can find a crooked old
street that reminds her of Washington; and pokes about all the old
cemeteries, until I feel as eerie as Coleridge's ancient mariner. I
believe she expects to come upon all the Pilgrim Fathers buried in one
vault. But there is nothing special on the programme for to-day--we will
go and see my lady this very afternoon.'

As they went in to lunch, Richard Everidge leaned over to Pauline and
whispered:--

'You have not answered my question. Do you think it is possible for
common, every-day Christians to live above the clouds?'

'If I were a Christian,' she said, in a low tone, 'I should want to get
as high up as I could.'

When they reached Tryphosa's, they heard her singing. They waited,
listening.

'Here brief is the sighing,
And brief is the crying,
For brief is the life!
The life there is endless,
The joy there is endless,
And ended the strife.

O country the fairest!
Our country the dearest,
We press toward thee!
O Sion the golden!
Our eyes are still holden,
Thy light till we see.

We know not, we know not,
All human words show not
The joys we may reach.
The mansions preparing,
The joys for our sharing,
The welcome for each.'

Then Belle opened the door softly and went in.

Pauline saw a large bay window opening into a tiny conservatory, which
loving hands kept dowered with a profusion of blooming plants. The room
was large and dainty with delicate draperies, two or three fine
pictures, and a beautiful representation in marble of the Angel of
Patience, which stood on a buhl table, where the invalid's eyes could
always rest upon it.

Tryphosa turned her head to greet them from the low couch, which was the
battle-ground where she had wrestled with the angel of pain during years
of physical agony. Her eyes were lustrous with a radiance not of earth,
and a wealth of silver hair fell in soft curling waves about her face;
her mouth, swee