kindness to him, and bowed himself from her presence, carrying with
him down the street the memory of her mocking eyes.

As he entered his private office, he was amazed to see Berene Dumont
sitting in his chair fast asleep, her head framed by her folded arms,
which rested on his desk. Against the dark maroon of her sleeve, her
classic face was outlined like a marble statuette. Her long lashes
swept her cheek, and in the attitude in which she sat, her graceful,
perfectly-proportioned figure displayed each beautiful curve to the
best advantage.

To a noble nature, the sight of even an enemy asleep, awakes
softening emotions, while the sight of a loved being in the
unconsciousness of slumber stirs the fountain of affection to its
very depths.

As the young editor looked upon the girl before him, a passion of
yearning love took possession of him. A wild desire to seize her in
his arms and cover her pale face with kisses, made his heart throb to
suffocation and brought cold beads to his brow; and just as these
feelings gained an almost uncontrollable dominion over his reason,
will and judgment, the girl awoke and started to her feet in
confusion.

"Oh, Mr Cheney, pray forgive me!" she cried, looking more beautiful
than ever with the flush which overspread her face. "I came in to
ask about a word in your editorial which I could not decipher. I
waited for you, as I felt sure you would be in shortly--and I was so
TIRED I sat down for just a second to rest--and that is all I knew
about it. You must forgive me, sir!--I did not mean to intrude."