knew them looked upon him as one related, and spoke no gossip concerning
them.

But one fine day that little fellow--always young--who is said to have
wings and a quiver full of arrows, came into the house. He kissed the
mother, a woman of forty and with attractions more than passing pleasant;
he touched the heart of the eldest daughter, Rose, eighteen years of age,
and he took the bandage off of his own eyes and put it over the head of
Basil, who straightway thought he loved the daughter, who was a woman of
no beauty, little intelligence and less amiability. Being blind with the
bandage of the boy Love, he could not see that the mother had centered her
full blown affections upon him. Therefore it came to pass that the mother
and daughter were rivals. He, being a man, did not understand; they, being
women, did. When he asked for the hand of her daughter he could not
comprehend not only why she should make denial, but why she stormed, wept
bitter tears, filled his startled ears with unreasonable reproaches, and
upbraided him as an ingrate and a man without feeling.

Her opposition made him believe in his love for Rose, but shortly the
beauty and the charm of Grace, the second daughter, about sixteen,
dissipated that belief, although he had pledged himself with word and ring
to Rose.

Grace, mortified by the rivalry between her mother and sister, and
conscious of a growing passion for the man who had, unintentionally, crept
into the lives of three women in one household bound by the closest ties
of blood, fled the place, and went down the broad river to a little town,
where she found quiet and friendly shelter in the home of a relative. It
was a curious place, very old, and in the heart of evergreens. There was a
young girl, Lydia, who was much older, had loved, and knew that priceless