a "mission"--something to
do, and to do in her own way; and until that work was done, or she had
utterly failed in the attempt, she did not mean to let that chattering
tongue of hers say one word that could give a clue to her thoughts or
intentions. We shall see, presently, how nearly and in what manner her
plans were carried out.

CHAPTER XXII.

A LITTLE ARRANGEMENT BETWEEN TOM LESLIE AND JOE HARRIS--UP THE
HUDSON-RIVER ROAD--A DETENTION AND A RECOGNITION--GOING TO WEST FALLS,
AND A PEEP AT THE HALSTEAD HOMESTEAD.

There are some things too sacred to be pryed into, and there are some
things too difficult to make any progress in that attempt, even when the
effort is made with the most determined will. Both these conditions will
to some extent apply to the intimacy between Tom Leslie and Josephine
Harris, which commenced on a day we well remember, and which may not
close until their joint destiny is accomplished. The very next day after
that adventure, he called at the house of Mrs. Harris, was introduced to
her with great empressement by her daughter, and received by her with
great cordiality. The good lady, whom we have no intention whatever of
describing, was a splendid specimen of the widowed matron in comfortable
circumstances, with just enough threads of silver shining amid her dark
hair, to make her matron-hood sacred and all the more loveable. That
she, who was not always pleased with a new-comer, chanced to like him
from the first, completed the vanquishment of the journalist, if that
object had not before been entirely accomplished; and within an hour
after setting foot within that comfortable little home the young man
felt that it had become dearer to him than any other building of bricks
and mortar into which he had ever entered.

So of the confidence which at once began to exist between the two
lovers. Yes--let the word be set down--lovers. When Josephine Harris
accompanied Tom Leslie to the door, on the night of his first visit to
her at home, he held out his arms to her, without a word, and she
nestled into them in the same silence, and returned the first kiss he
pressed upon her lips. Thenceforth their lips, we may believe, belonged
exclusively to neither, but had a divided interest. What matter,
thereafter, how many times they were pressed together, or how long that
pressure lingered? What matter how many words they spoke, or what formed
the burden of those words? They had accidentally touch