not occasion surprise.

As the sled glided homewards over the crackling snow, he was
obliged to confess the existence of a new and powerful excitement.
Was it the chance of an adventure, such as certain of his comrades
were continually seeking? He thought not; no, decidedly not. Was
it--could it be--love? He really could not tell; he had not the
slightset idea what love was like.



VI.

It was something at least, that the plastic and not un-virtuous
nature of the young man was directed towards a definite object.
The elements out of which he was made, although somewhat diluted,
were active enough to make him uncomfortable, so long as they
remained in a confused state. He had very little power of
introversion, but he was sensible that his temperament was
changing,--that he grew more cheerful and contented with life,--
that a chasm somewhere was filling up,--just in proportion as
his acquaintance with the old music-master and his daughter became
more familiar. His visits were made so brief, were so adroitly
timed and accounted for by circumstances, that by the close of Lent
he could feel justified in making the Easter call of a friend, and
claim its attendant privileges, without fear of being repulsed.

That Easter call was an era in his life. At the risk of his wealth
and rank being suspected, he dressed himself in new and rich
garments, and hurried away towards the Smolnoi. The old nurse,