en by the religious fervors of the Rev. Mr. Stoker.

He spoke well of Cyprian Eveleth. A good young man,--limited, but
exemplary. Would succeed well as rector of a small parish. That required
little talent, but a good deal of the humbler sort of virtue. As for
himself, he confessed to ambition,--yes, a great deal of ambition.
A failing, he supposed, but not the worst of failings. He felt the
instinct to handle the larger interests of society. The village would
perhaps lose sight of him for a time; but he meant to emerge sooner or
later in the higher spheres of government or diplomacy. Myrtle must keep
his secret. Nobody else knew it. He could not help making a confidant of
her,--a thing he had never done before with any other person as to his
plans in life. Perhaps she might watch his career with more interest
from her acquaintance with him. He loved to think that there was
one woman at least who would be pleased to hear of his success if
he succeeded, as with life and health he would,--who would share his
disappointment if fate should not favor him.--So he wound and wreathed
himself into her thoughts.

It was not very long before Myrtle began to accept the idea that she
was the one person in the world whose peculiar duty it was to sympathize
with the aspiring young man whose humble beginnings she had the honor
of witnessing. And it is not very far from being the solitary confidant,
and the single source of inspiration, to the growth of a livelier
interest, where a young man and a young woman are in question.

Myrtle was at this time her own mistress as never before. The three
young men had access to her as she walked to and from meeting and in her
frequent rambles, besides the opportunities Cyprian had of meeting her
in his sister's company, and the convenient visits which, in connection
with the great lawsuit, Murray Bradshaw could make, without question, at
The Poplars.

It was not long before Cyprian perceived that he could never pass a
certain boundary of intimacy with Myrtle. Very pleasant and sisterly
always she was with him; but she never looked as if she might mean more
than she said, and cherished a little spark of sensibility which might
be fanned into the flame of love. Cyprian felt this so certainly that he
was on the point of telling his grief to Bathsheba, who looked to him
as if she would sympathize as heartily with him as his own sister, and
whose sympathy would have a certain flavor in it,--somethin