hair stood on end, and there was a deep wrinkle between her eyes.
"Well, Sibyl, have you made a commencement?" she asked, as her cousin
took her seat at the dinner-table.

"I have finished my contribution entirely," said Sibyl.

"Did it take you all the morning? I have not heard a sound from your
room."

"Oh no! I finished it some time ago, and since then I have been making
a new underskirt for my Swiss muslin; the old one was not quite
fresh."

"There it is," said Bessie, half laughing, half vexed; "you are always
ahead of me, Sibyl. Your contribution will be perfect, and your dress
will be perfect,--and I am always just--"

"Bessie Darrell!" interrupted Hugh; "and I would not have you
different if I could."

"Thank you, Hugh; but the rest of the world may not agree with you."

"If you mean Gideon Fish," began Hugh, merrily, but something in his
cousin's face stopped him. It was seldom that the keenest observer
could detect anything like wounded feelings in Bessie Darrell's bright
eyes, but when it did come, they were like the eyes of a wounded fawn.

"How has your contribution advanced, Hugh?" asked Aunt Faith.

"Done! madam, at your service," said Hugh with a low bow. "The muses