ily.

Mrs. Rocke sighed, and, saying, "I deemed it my duty to speak to you,
sir, and having done so, I have no more to say," she slightly curtsied
and withdrew.

"He does not see! His great benevolence blinds him! In his wish to serve
us he exposes Traverse to the most dreadful misfortune--the misfortune
of becoming hopelessly attached to one far above him in station, whom he
can never expect to possess!" said Marah Rocke to herself, as she
retired from the room.

"I must speak to Traverse himself and warn him against this snare," she
said, as she afterward ruminated over the subject.

And accordingly that evening, when she had retired to her chamber and
heard Traverse enter the little adjoining room where he slept, she
called him in, and gave him a seat, saying that she must have some
serious conversation with him.

The boy looked uneasy, but took the offered chair and waited for his
mother to speak.

"Traverse," she said, "a change has come over you recently that may
escape all other eyes but those of your mother; she, Traverse, cannot be
blind to anything that seriously affects her boy's happiness."

"Mother, I scarcely know what you mean," said the youth in
embarrassment.

"Traverse, you are beginning to think too much of Miss Day."

"Oh, mother!" exclaimed the boy, while a violent blush overspread and
empurpled his face! Then in a little while and in faltering tones he
inquired. "Have I betrayed, in any way, that I do?"

"To no one but to me, Traverse, to me whose anxiety for your happiness
makes me watchful; and now, dear boy, you must listen to me. I know it
is very sweet to you, to sit in a dark corner and gaze on Clara, when no
one, not even herself, witnesses your joy, and to lie awake and think
and dream of her when no eye but that of God looks down upon your heart;
and to build castles in the air for her and for you; all this I know is
very sweet, but, Traverse, it is a sweet poison--fatal if indulged
in--fatal to your peace and integrity."

"Oh, my mother! Oh, my mother! What are you telling me!" exclaimed
Traverse, bitterly.

"Unpalatable truths, dear boy, but necessary antidotes to that sweet
poison of which you have already tasted too much."

"What would you have me to do, my mother?"

"Guard your acts and words, and even thoughts; forbear to look at, or
speak to, or think of Clara, except when it is unavoidable--or if you
do, regard her as she is--one so far beyond your sphere as to be