e of its perfume, that Lu was truly sealed from him in
it, sealed into herself. Then again, saying no word, he went out.

Louise stood like one lost,--took aimlessly a few steps,--retraced
them,--approached a table,--touched something,--left it.

"I am so sorry about your beads!" she said, apologetically, when she
looked up and saw me astonished, putting the broken pieces into my hand.

"Goodness! Is that what you are fluttering about so for?"

"They can't be mended," she continued, "but I will thread them again."

"I don't care about them, I'm sick of amber," I answered, consolingly.
"You may have them, if you will."

"No. I must pay too great a price for them," she replied.

"Nonsense! when they break again, I'll pay you back," I said, without in
the least knowing what she meant. "I didn't know you were too proud for
a 'thank you!'"

She came up and put both her arms round my neck, laid her cheek beside
mine a minute, kissed me, and went up-stairs. Lu always rather
worshipped me.

Dressing my hair that night, Carmine, my maid, begged for the remnants
of the bell-wort to "make a scent-bag with, Miss."

Next day, no Rose; it rained. But at night he came and took possession
of the room, with a strange, airy gayety never seen in him before. It
was so chilly, that I had heaped the wood-boughs, used in the
yesterday's decorations, on the hearth, and lighted a fragrant crackling
flame that danced up wildly at my touch,--for I have the faculty of
fire. I sat at one side, Lu at the other, papa was holding a skein of
silk for her to wind, the amber beads were twinkling in the
firelight,--and when she slipped them slowly on the thread, bead after
bead, warmed through and through by the real blaze, they crowded the
room afresh with their pungent spiciness. Papa had called Rose to take
his place at the other end of the silk, and had gone out; and when Lu
finished, she fastened the ends, cut the thread, Rose likening her to
Atropos, and put them back into her basket. Still playing with the
scissors, following down the lines of her hand, a little snap was heard.

"Oh!" said Louise, "I have broken my ring!"

"Can't it be repaired?" I asked.

"No," she returned briefly, but pleasantly, and threw the pieces into
the fire.

"The hand must not be ringless," said Rose; and slipping off the ring of
hers that he wore, he dropped it upon the amber, then got up and threw
an armful of fresh boughs upon the blaze.

So that was