e entered into conversation at once so easily and
gracefully, that Mittie threw off the slight embarrassment that
oppressed her, and answered him in the same light spirited tone. She was
astonished at herself, for she was usually reserved with strangers, and
her thoughts seldom effervesced in brilliant sallies or sparkling
repartees. But Clinton carried about with him the wand of an enchanter,
and every thing he touched, sparkled and shone with newly awakened or
reflected brightness. Every one has felt the influence of that
indescribable fascination of manner which some individuals possess, and
which has the effect of electricity or magnetism. Something that
captivates, even against the will, and keeps one enthralled, in spite of
the struggling of pride, and the shame attendant on submission. One of
these fascinating, electric, magnetic beings was Clinton. Louis had long
been one of his captives, but _he_ was such a gay, frank, confiding,
porous hearted being, it was not strange, but that he should break
through the triple bars of coldness, haughtiness and reserve, which
Mittie had built around her, so high no mortal had scaled them--this was
more than strange--it was miraculous.

When Mittie retired that night, instead of preparing for sleep, she sat
down in the window, and tried to analyze the charm which drew her
towards this stranger, without any volition of her own. She could not do
it--it was intangible, evasive and subtle. The effect of his presence
was like the sun-burst on the landscape, the moment of his arrival. The
dark places of her soul seemed suddenly illumined; the massy columns of
her intellect turned like the tree trunks, into pillars of gold and
light; gilded foliage, in new born leaflets, played about the branches.
She looked up into the heavens, and thought they had never bent in such
grandeur and splendor over her, nor the solemn poetry of night ever
addressed her in such deep, earnest language. All her senses appeared
to have acquired an acuteness, an exquisiteness that made them
susceptible almost to pain. The stars dazzled her like sunbeams, and
those low, murmuring, monotonous sounds, the muffled beatings of the
heart of night, rung loudly and distinctly on her ear. Alarmed at the
strange excitement of her nerves, she rose and looked round the
apartment which her step-mother's hand had adorned, and _ingratitude_
seemed written in large, dark characters on the soft, grayish colored
walls. Why ha