hat he has seen of our dear
Tappington's appointments; and as I gather from Mr. Carstone's letter
that he is anxious to enter at once and make the most of the dear boy's
absence, you will see, my dear Cherry, that Ellen has everything ready
for him?"

Before the unfortunate Bly could explain or protest, the young girl
lifted her gray eyes to his. Whether she had perceived and understood
his perplexity he could not tell; but the swift shy glance was at once
appealing, assuring, and intelligent. She was certainly unlike her
mother and brother. Acting with his usual impulsiveness, he forgot his
previous resolution, and before he left had engaged to begin his
occupation of the room on the following day.

The next afternoon found him installed. Yet, after he had unpacked his
modest possessions and put them away, after he had placed his few books
on the shelves, where they looked glaringly trivial and frivolous
beside the late tenant's severe studies; after he had set out his
scanty treasures in the way of photographs and some curious mementoes
of his wandering life, and then quickly put them back again with a
sudden angry pride at exposing them to the unsympathetic incongruity of
the other ornaments, he, nevertheless, felt ill at ease. He glanced in
vain around the pretty room. It was not the delicately flowered
wall-paper; it was not the white and blue muslin window-curtains
gracefully tied up with blue and white ribbons; it was not the spotless
bed, with its blue and white festooned mosquito-net and flounced
valances, and its medallion portrait of an unknown bishop at the back;
it was not the few tastefully framed engravings of certain cardinal
virtues, "The Rock of Ages," and "The Guardian Angel"; it was not the
casts in relief of "Night" and "Morning"; it was certainly not the cosy
dimity-covered arm-chairs and sofa, nor yet the clean-swept polished
grate with its cheerful fire sparkling against the chill afternoon
sea-fogs without; neither was it the mere feminine suggestion, for that
touched a sympathetic chord in his impulsive nature; nor the religious
and ascetic influence, for he had occupied a monastic cell in a school
of the padres at an old mission, and slept profoundly;--it was none of
those, and yet a part of all. Most habitations retain a cast or shell
of their previous tenant that, fitting tightly or loosely, is still
able to adjust itself to the newcomer; in most occupied apartments
there is still a