herself believe that she loved him; and when she heard, as she more
than once did hear, rumors of a sad, white-faced woman to whom the
grave was a welcome rest, she said the story was false, and, shaking
her pretty head, refused to believe that there was aught in the
doctor of evil.

"To be sure, he was not at all like Harry--she could never find one
who was--but he was so tall, so dignified, so grand, so particular,
that it seemed almost like stooping, for one in his position to
think of her, and she liked him all the better for his
condescension."

Thus she ever reasoned, and when Janet said that he was coming, and
she, too, heard his step upon the piazza, the bright blushes broke
over her youthful face, and casting a hurried glance at the mirror,
she hastened out to meet him.

"Matty, my dear!" he said, and his thin lips touched her glowing
cheek, but in his cold gray eye there shone no love,--no feeling,--
no heart.

He was too supremely selfish to esteem another higher than himself,
and though it flattered him to know that the young creature was so
glad to meet him, it awoke no answering chord, and he merely thought
that with her to minister to him he should possibly be happier than
he had been with her predecessor.

"You must be very tired," she said, as she led the way into the cozy
parlor. Then, seating him in the easy chair near to the open window,
she continued: "How warm you are. What made you walk this sultry