CHAPTER V

.

Where have we lived and loved before this, sweet? My will ere now hath led thy wayward feet; I knew thy beauties--limbs, lips, brows, and hair-- Before these eyes beheld and found thee fair.

Mrs. Deering's arguments carried the day, and Graham decided to accompany the young ladies to San Real. Ferrara was to be of the party. It was a bright morning which saw the departure of the three travellers from the Ranch. Hal drove them to the station in a very disconsolate frame of mind. During Ralph Almsford's long absences, it was impossible for him to leave the Ranch, in which his interests were all vested; and it seemed rather hard that Graham should enjoy the pleasure which he had been obliged to decline. Henry Deering was a susceptible young man, and he was already enthralled by the soft voice and deep eyes of the girl on whom he had bestowed the title of Princess. His friendship for John Graham was one of the strongest feelings he had ever known. He admired him more than any person he knew. He respected the sterling character of the man, on whose honor he would have staked his life; and yet it was hard that Graham should devote himself to the Princess, for he said to himself there could be no chance for him against such a rival.

The country through which the railroad from San Rosario to San Real passes is most picturesque. Round the high hills winds the yellow line of the track, making horseshoe loops, so that the engine, Millicent said, sometimes turned round and looked the passengers in the face. Long, high bridges carry the shining steel threads of travel over deep canyons, with fierce rocky sides and stony bottoms. The scenery is very wild and beautiful, and the moderate pace at which the shaky little engine tugged along the rickety cars gave the travellers every opportunity for seeing and admiring the view.

A great mountain, lying among the low foothills, remained in view through the greater part of the route; it was conical and sharp-pointed, like the typical mountain of the atlas. A great fire had lately raged for days among the spreading trees and thick undergrowth; and now that the smoke had cleared away, the path which the flame had taken was distinctly visible from certain points. A great cross lay stamped on the mountain-side, for all men to see. The baptism of fire had left the symbol which was sanctified eighteen hundred years ago. Graham attracted Millicent's attention to this, which, she said, would have been considered a miracle in Italy.

"Are they not happy, those dear simple-minded Italians? A large portion of them do really believe in miracles to this day." Millicent was the speaker.

"Yes, far happier than those of us who have lost all belief in anything beyond our own bodies, and the facts which that body's senses reveal to us."

"And you believe--"

"Ask me not, maiden, what I believe. I can only hope. But this I know, that there is need to you and to me, to all of us of this generation, to whom the old fallacious dogmas of dead creeds are meaningless, of faith. This is not the age of belief. The things which have been considered necessary draperies to religion are stripped off; but because truth is naked, it is none the less truth. Faith in that part of ourselves which is not of earth, we must hold fast to, when all else is rent from our feeble natures."

"You should be a preacher. I think that you have got the right end of the truth, perhaps--"

Barbara, who had sat a silent listener to this conversation between the two young people, now spoke for the first time.

"I know little of the modern scientific theories, which Mr. Graham thinks have stripped religion of much that used to belong to it; but to me the denial of a Creator is the most illogical and ignorant act of which the human mind is capable. Look at that house we are just passing. If I should tell you that it never was built, that no architect or workman ever planned and executed its design, you would say that my talk was too idle to require contradiction. And yet you will tell me that the pleasant earth on which the house stands, the very trees which furnished its wood, the metals and stone which are wrought into it, exist, and yet knew no Maker."

"Barbara, do not let us talk any more about it; it is impossible for you and me to speak understandingly to each other on these subjects. Mr. Graham stands midway between your conventional faith and my unbelief; he can understand us both. Now let us talk about love and roses."

"_Apropos_ of love and roses, here comes Ferrara, laden with both of those fragile commodities, which he will straightway lay at Miss Barbara's feet. If you like, Miss Almsford, we will make the next stage of our journey on the engine. I spoke to the engineer, at the last station, of your desire to see the mechanism of his locomotive. You will find the man quite clean and intelligent."

Ferrara joined the party at this moment, having come up to meet the train at this station. He carried a handful of great yellow roses, which he presented to Barbara with a low bow. The girl looked beseechingly at Millicent, who laughed rather heartlessly, and, escorted by Graham, proceeded to the engine. She was pleasantly received by its presiding genius, a hatchet-faced, sharp-voiced Yankee, who made a place for her on his little cushioned seat at one side of the locomotive. As soon as she was comfortably ensconced here, Graham sitting at her feet, the engineer rang the bell and allowed Millicent to pull the lever, which set the panting creature of iron and wood a-screaming. With a guttural shriek the engine pulled itself together and started off down the track at a good speed. Once in motion, the breeze, blowing through the windows, cooled the intense heat. Millicent looked straight down the narrowing steel rails with that keen sense of pleasure which every novel experience gave her. Presently she asked the small Yankee to explain the use of the steam gauge and of the various appliances crowded into the small space where she sat. The fireman, a hideous giant, black and grimy, occasionally opened a door and fed the furious fire with great lumps of coal. When it was well filled he varied his occupation by watering the wooden parts of the engine with a long rubber hose, lest they should ignite from the great heat. On a little shelf above her seat Millicent espied a book, toward which she instinctively stretched her hand. Books always acted on Millicent like magnets. The volume proved to be a Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, lately published in a cheap edition. She asked the sharp-faced engineer if he found the matter interesting, and was somewhat astonished by his astute remarks on the work and the personage of whom it treated. She looked at Graham in some astonishment, but he seemed in no-wise surprised at the phenomenon of a working-man in a blue blouse who could intelligently read and understand the seriously written biography of the great conqueror. The steam gauge rose higher and higher, while the engine tore along at a quicker speed in order to please the delicate visitor, who was now allowed to move the lever, and to pull the bell when they passed the signals requiring them to do so. The engineer was an interesting person, Millicent thought; he told her many humorous stories of his experiences, and some tragical ones. His wife had on one occasion accompanied him on a trip, sitting on the very place where Millicent now reposed. An accident had occurred, a broken rail throwing the cars down a high embankment, while the weight of the engine had saved them both from the terrible fate of many of the passengers. From that day his wife had refused ever to travel in any part of the train save in the small cabin where her husband sat. In a collision, Millicent learned, the dread fate of the engineer could only be avoided by desertion of his post; and the speaker bore witness to the steadfast bravery of more than one of his mates who had preferred death to such an act. As he talked he kept his eyes fixed on the two shining rails stretching before them. Sometimes, when interested in his own story, or their remarks, the engineer would look for a moment into Millicent's face; and she, with a terrified consciousness that her eyes were the only ones which could see any obstruction before the train thundering along at a great speed, would strain her vision to the utmost down the narrowing line of track. What an awful responsibility lay upon the shoulders of this cheerful little man, with his twinkling gimlet blue eyes, and how lightly he seemed to carry his burden. She grew quite white and silent at the thought; and when her hand, guided by the engineer, brought the panting locomotive to a standstill at the next station, she gladly stepped down upon the narrow platform, steadied by Graham's arm. They parted from the engineer with many expressions of pleasure for the ride they had enjoyed, and joined Barbara and Ferrara in the car.

San Real is one of the pleasantest sea-side towns to be found on the coast of California. It has become quite lately a fashionable summer resort, and boasts two large hotels, a colony of boarding-houses, and half a dozen private residences. All of these are of modest dimensions, with the single exception of the pretentious mansion of Mr. Patrick Shallop, which stands at the distance of a mile from the little village composed of one long street of shops and saloons.

At the station the party found a handsome carriage awaiting them, drawn by two prancing gray horses and decorated with sprawling coats-of-arms. The groom and driver were dressed according to the latest English fashion, and the tidy cart for the luggage was driven by a liveried menial. Millicent noted these details with surprise as she sank back on the satin cushions of the landau, and Graham laughingly commented upon her evident astonishment at the smart equipage.

"It appears, O fair Venetian, that you are surprised at this grandeur. Did not Miss Barbara prepare you for it?"

"No," answered the young woman quietly; she did not like to be laughed at. As the carriage rolled along the village street, Millicent gave a little cry of joy: "I smell the sea!" she cried.

Soon after they emerged from the shadow of the houses and struck the road which led to the brow of the cliffs. There, for the first time since she had left New York, Millicent looked out over the salt waves. The cool sea breeze twisted the curls which clustered about her forehead into tighter rings, and fanned a color into her marble cheek. She kissed her hand toward the great gray ocean as if gladly greeting the Pacific. Below the cliffs stretched the white beach, with its rows of bathing-houses, and booths hung with gay-colored wares. They had but time to glance at the view when the carriage turned from the road and entered a long avenue bordered with good-sized trees. Marble statues gleamed through the dark green of the luxuriant gardens, and odorous flowers made the air heavy with sweetness. Before the door of an enormous house the horses were drawn up, and Barbara and Millicent, followed by Graham and Ferrara, entered the wide hall. The exterior of the house was far from attractive. The material used was exclusively wood, which in California is almost universally employed in private dwellings. The fear of earthquakes always lurks in the mind of the Californian, and houses of brick or stone are very rare. The model adopted by the architect was a novel one, and seemed a combination of the Ionic, Corinthian, and Queen Anne styles. Stucco and lath represented decorations and columns which would have been appropriate in marble or granite. The massive style and the flimsy material gave an incongruous appearance to the great building. The wide terrace which surrounded the house, with its bright parterres of flowers, and the pleasant piazza, with roof and pillars like a Norman cloister, were, however, wonderfully attractive. Beyond the close-clipped emerald lawn was seen the ocean, whose white curling waves danced merrily in the unbroken sunshine.

The guests found Mrs. Shallop awaiting them in a long dim drawing-room. She was a skimpy pattern of feminality, with a pitiful, pinched face, great sad-looking eyes, colorless, sandy hair, and a thin, angular body. Though it was early in the afternoon, the elegance of her dress would have been suitable to a ball room. The heavy folds of rich blue brocade stood out from the poor little figure whose emaciated lines its rich fabric refused to indicate. She advanced toward her guests with something of an effort, as if the burden of dress which was laid upon her were greater than she could bear. Her welcome was, however, very cordial; and her bony little hands, with their weight of jewels, clasped Barbara's strong fingers affectionately.

"I am real glad you have all come, Miss Deering. I was awful fidgety about the train's being late. Miss Almsford, I am real pleased to see you. Mister Graham, happy to see you, sir. I hope your health is better, Mister Ferrara?"

Each of the guests acknowledged the kindly greeting, and some general conversation ensued. Millicent looked about the great drawing-room, noting the various beautiful articles of furniture, the Venetian glasses, the pictures and rich embroideries, the thousand-and-one bits of _bric-a-brac_ which decorated the walls and cabinets of the lofty apartment. It was in truth a rarely beautiful room, the prevailing color a deep, soft crimson, the wood-work all painted white and delicately carved. Below the ceiling ran a frieze, the work of John Graham. The subject treated was the history of Cupid and Psyche. The scenes were divided into panels by twining sprays of rose-vines charmingly treated. The first represented the meeting of the two lovers, their marriage being the next in order. In the third compartment the doubting Psyche looks for the first time on the radiant beauty of the sleeping God. Next the artist had portrayed the forsaken, love-lorn bride sitting alone, crushed with grief, repenting the fatal curiosity which prompted her to peer too closely into the nature of love,--that greatest of boons, which should be accepted joyously and with thanksgiving, and to which doubt means death. The hard services required by Cytherea from the desolate Psyche were exquisitely rendered; and the final scene of the reunion of the two lovers was the masterpiece of the whole work. Psyche, radiant with new-found love and joy, her face touched with a more than mortal beauty by the grief she has endured, stands looking reverently into the face of the strongest of gods. Her rainbow wings can lift her now, to soar beside her lover, even to Olympus.

Millicent admired the beautiful frieze, which the hostess confessed troubled her sorely because of the scanty raiment which she said seemed to have been the fashion of the time it represented.

"Mister Graham," she explained, had induced her to keep it in the place for which it had been designed. Mrs. Shallop added that the artist had refused to follow her suggestion of adding clothing to the half nude bodies; and had, moreover, extracted a promise from her husband that he would never allow any other painter to be intrusted with thus supplementing the airy rainbow draperies of the figures.

Miss Almsford was much astonished at the very beautiful interior of the great Shallop house, and soon learned that its furnishing and decoration had been intrusted to Graham, who was gifted with that rarest and most valuable of aesthetic qualities, a perfect and original taste.

"It is the only house Mr. Graham has ever arranged, and he says he will never do another. He was in Europe while it was being built, and mamma persuaded the Shallops to give him _carte blanche_ to buy all the beautiful things he could lay hands upon," Barbara explained.

The guests were shown to their rooms by the hostess, and Millicent gave an exclamation of delight on entering the apartment allotted to her. It was indeed a unique room. The walls were panelled in ebony to a third of their height, a bright light pattern in flowers running to the ceiling, and relieving what might otherwise have been sombre. The glossy black wood was carved into a wide, high fireplace, where two brass andirons, curiously wrought with twisted dragons, supported a fire whose bright blaze was most welcome to Millicent. She found the season very cold compared to the still, hot Italian summers. Below the mantel the fire shone out in welcome, but above the ebony shelf, set in the wall, was a picture which seemed fuller of light and color than the leaping flames. A Venetian scene with a terrace whereon sat men and maidens in the warm glow of the sunset, looking out over a stretch of many-toned water, in which were mirrored sky and clouds, trees, draperies, and graceful human figures. A black gondola, partly shown in the foreground, might have held the painter while he sketched the brilliant scene.

"It is my Venice!" cried Millicent, "it is my home!" Her eyes were full of tears. She caught Barbara by the arm and rapidly described to her the point from which the picture had been painted.

"Mr. Graham will be very much pleased that you recognized the spot."

"Is it _his_ picture? Yes, I ought to have known it."

"Why, are you clairvoyant?"

"Yes, Barbara, sometimes."

Millicent seemed somewhat disconcerted at what she had said; and, without noticing anything more in the pretty room, ascended the dainty little ebon staircase with its fanciful rail, and, pushing back a panel which slid into the wall, entered her bedroom. Later, when both of the girls had exchanged their travelling dresses, Barbara knocked at Millicent's boudoir.

"_Entrate_," was the response, in obedience to which she opened the door, and found Millicent lying on the low, crescent-shaped sofa, her fair head resting on a pile of cushions. Her graceful figure was clad in a gown soft amber in color, her only ornaments wonderful strings of amber beads falling over the white neck, which the fashion of the frock disclosed, and encircling the smooth bare arms, with their delicate tracery of blue veins like the lines in purest marble. Her hands were hidden, clasped behind her head, and the expression of her face was almost vacant in its look of absorbing reverie. Beside her on the floor lay a small parchment book, ivory-clasped,--"The Sonnets of Petrarch." Her eyes were fixed on the panel over the mantel shelf, but they saw more than the artist had pictured with brush and color: a waking day dream of her home as she had last seen it, and ah! how much sweeter an imagining of how she might next see it,--with what surroundings, with what companionship! O blessed dream-castles of women, in which all the cares and privations of life are forgotten; in which there is never a weariness or a pain; where lonely watching is succeeded by joyous reunion; where those who have lived and know too surely that they must die without that greatest happiness which life can hold, drink the cup of joy innocently, purely, fearing no bitter after-taste, finding no foul dregs!

At Barbara's entrance Millicent slowly drew herself back from dreamland into the actual present. Her eyes, which had been staring widely with a blank look, now seemed to change color with returning consciousness. It was a long journey, and she gave a deep sigh when it was accomplished, and she realized that plump, pretty Barbara, with her best frock and ribbons, stood by her side looking curiously in her face.

"I was reading, and I fancy I had fallen asleep, Bab, what can I do for you?"

"Mrs. Shallop suggested our all having tea here, if you liked. They do not dine till eight to-night. Mr. Shallop has been detained in San Francisco."

"Very well, dear, just as you say. You did not mean to send for the gentlemen?"

"Oh, yes, this room is always used for a tea room, unless you object, of course. If you prefer to 'sport your oak,' you have a perfect right to do so, and we will go downstairs."

"No, no, let us have it here by all means, if it is the custom."

Barbara rang the bell, which was answered by a ponderous butler with a condescending manner, white neckcloth, bandy legs, and an apoplectic countenance. The individual had been imported by the Shallops along with the footman and driver, his two younger brothers, who, in common with all the other members of the household, from Mr. Shallop down to the boots, stood in awe of him. To this worthy Barbara somewhat timidly gave orders that tea should be brought, and the gentlemen warned that it awaited them.

"Very good, miss," answered the functionary in the driest possible tone, his features curled into an expression of scorn toward the whole human race. His bow was so terrific in its icy grandeur that Barbara shivered as he left the room.

"I hate that man, and he knows it. He always spoils my appetite by glaring at me all through dinner; and I think he takes an evil delight in handing all the most impossible dishes to me first, which I have to refuse, because I don't dare to attack them."

The man shortly after returned and laid a low round table in the bow-window for tea. Barbara placed herself behind the old-fashioned silver urn and busied herself with tea-making, while Millicent drew up the blinds and let the sunset into the room. Soon Graham came in, begging for a cup of tea, a sure bait to him, he said, especially when Miss Deering poured out the delicious beverage. This last speech he made with an exaggeratedly deep bow, which grotesqued the compliment and made the girl's cheek redden. Shortly after, Ferrara joined the party, and a pleasant tea-drinking ensued, though the last comer refused to be tempted by the pretty cups of smoking Souchong.

"Neither will I reproach my luncheon, nor insult the excellent dinner which I am sure Mrs. Shallop will give us, by the uncivilized fashion of drinking tea at this hour."

"Miss Almsford thinks we are too civilized here, Ferrara. She almost fainted when she learned that I was the possessor of a dress-coat. She hoped to find us in eternal suits of corduroy and flannel, with top-boots and bowie knives."

"You have exactly described the costume in which I first saw you, Mr. Graham; so you surely should not blame me for believing that, in wearing it, you followed the prevailing fashion of your country."

"That alters the case; but are you not mistaken? I remember having taken particular care to don a black coat on that evening--do you remember?--when I surprised you by the fire."

"But I had seen you before that, though you had never seen me."

"When, fair lady? May I hope that our first encounter was in your white dreams?"

The girl shook her head and laughed.

"Was it perhaps in another existence? Did we dance together, you and I, in the old happy days when Pan reigned? Now I think of it, were you not the wood-nymph who vanished from me into the arms of a great tree? Did you not tread one measure with me in the merry wood-dance, and then leave me desolate with a tryst appointed but never kept?"

"Did you not soon find another partner?"

"I waited long alone."

"And if I could not come sooner?"

"Well, you have come at last to keep the tryst. Will you finish that dance which was begun so many eons ago?"

"Ay me! and can we now dance the same measure, you and I? Would not our feet tread inharmonious steps?"

"Which of us can say? Shall we try?"

"If you say my word was given, I know not how to break it."

The room had grown dim, and Barbara and Ferrara in the recess of the window were speaking together, while Millicent sat gazing dreamily into the glowing heart of the low-burning fire, conscious that Graham was looking intently on her face. She dared not lift her eyes to his, and veiled them with the downcast lids. Not what she might read daunted her, but what might be revealed to the man who sat leaning forward in the quaintly-carven oak chair.

"It is understood then that you admit my claim to your hand,--for one dance at least? You acknowledge the promise made so many dim years back? You have come across wide, tossing seas and over broad, sun-parched fields to keep the tryst you made with me, a smile upon your face, a shadow in your eyes?"

For answer the girl bowed her head.

"Nay, I must hear it from your very own lips. Is it for this that you have come?"

"Yes." The word came soft as twilight shadows, sweet as Nature's harmony. A long pause preceded the low-breathed monosyllable, the word which fond women love best to speak and which listening lovers thrill, half cold, half hot, at hearing. And when it was spoken and heard came a second silence, even longer than the first; and yet what they had said was begun in badinage, and was finished without serious thought by either man or woman. Dangerous words! dangerous silence! happy time, how oft remembered in later days!

"Did I hear you asking Miss Almsford for a dance, Graham? What ball are you contemplating? I have heard of none unless you mean to invite us all to your tower for a frolic. Be sure you do not leave me out; I have long wished to visit your hermitage."

"If the ladies would so highly honor a lonely dweller in the woods as to allow him the felicity of being their host, be sure, my dear Ferrara, that you shall escort them to my humble abode."

"Really, are you in earnest? I have always wished to see your tower. When shall we come?"

"That is for you to say, Miss Deering. Any day which will suit your convenience will be agreeable to me."

"We will settle it after we return to the Ranch."

Soon after this Mrs. Shallop joined the group, and they all went out and walked on the wide terrace till dinner was served. Here Millicent met Mr. Shallop for the first time. He was a heavy-featured Irishman, with light-blue eyes, overhanging brows, and thick, coarse brown hair. His badly modelled nose had a decided upward tendency, and the broad mouth disclosed sharp, long teeth, like those of an inferior animal. When he smiled he showed the whole set, which gave him a rather ferocious aspect. His face was clean shaven, save for a fringe of whisker stretching from the lobe of the ear to the lower jaw. With a pipe and a shillelah he would have been an excellent specimen of a patron of Donnybrook Fair. On this occasion he wore irreproachable evening dress. His linen was finer than Graham's, and the cut of his collar and pattern of his studs were of a later fashion than those worn by Ferrara. A valet's care had smoothed the rough hair and cared for the ugly hands. One of his peculiarities was to address all ladies as "Marm." His conversation was not unintelligent, and betrayed a keen, sharp mind, which clearly understood those things which came in close contact with it, but whose mental vision was bounded by the physical one. Those things which he had learned by experience he knew absolutely, and he never questioned or theorized on subjects which did not directly touch himself or his own interests. California had been to him a place which held a gold mine, nothing more or less. His history, which he made no effort to conceal, was not an uncommon one. He had come out in '49, among the fevered crowd of gold-seekers drawn from every country, from every station in life, by the loadstone which had been discovered on the banks, of the American River, by James Marshall. He had come to San Francisco in those early days when law and order were not, save when the conscience of the public, stronger and purer in its united power than in the individuals which compose it, was awakened, and hastened to punish a crime by a rude and swift justice. Shallop had built a cabin in which he lived, and in which he sold, when he was networking in the gulches, any articles of food which he was able to procure. When there were no potatoes or bread, he closed the door of his shanty and started off with pick and washing-pan for the gulches. When these staple edibles were to be had, he made a brisk trade in catering to the half-starved miners. It had been said that though Shallop's bread was heavy, it cost nearly its weight in gold. In those days he had wooed and married the widow of a brother miner, one of the few women whose sad lot brought them to the land of disorder and bloodshed. A few weeks only elapsed, before the widowed woman gladly changed her state for the protection of the strong arm of Patrick Shallop, to whom she became deeply attached, with a pathetic love resembling that of a dog for a kind master. The bread grew lighter then, and sometimes the potatoes fed pitiful pale youths who brought no store of gold-dust to pay for them. Patrick Shallop, living in the most magnificent dwelling in the whole length and breadth of California, was sometimes moved to tell of the little cabin where he had brought home his bride on a wet night, borrowing an umbrella to place over the bed to keep the rain from wetting her to the skin. There had been times when things had gone badly with the inmates of the little cabin, and days had passed when the mother's ears were torn with the cries of children hungry for bread. It was at this time that Barbara's father had known the Shallops. Mr. Deering was a delicately bred, handsome young man, who had come with the eager crowd of men all pushing ruthlessly forward to the golden goal, sometimes trampling to death the weaker brothers who fell by the wayside. Sick of a fever, faint and dying, he was plundered of his hard-earned store of gold-dust, and would have been murdered by his robber but for the interposition of Shallop, who stood by to see fair play, and carried the sick man home to his shanty, where the tender nursing of the busy wife saved his life a second time. Adversity makes strange companionships between men; and the friendship between the saloon-keeper and the delicately nurtured youth with the blood of a Puritan ancestry in his veins, was one which lasted through both their lives. By some mining exploits which would hardly bear the light of day, but which were, alas! not more uncommon at that time than at the present day, the Irishman had made a colossal fortune which placed him among the richest men in the world. There could be little sympathy between the two men whom the chances of that wild time had thrown together for the moment, but a cordiality was always felt; and after Mr. Deering's death frequent visits were exchanged between the dwellers of the San Rosario Ranch and the inmates of the most celebrated house on the borders of the Pacific Ocean.

The dinner was a long one, served with all the tedious formalities which the fierce butler chose to inflict. It was not until the servants had withdrawn that the host and hostess, who stood in mortal dread of their chief functionary, their oracle on all matters of etiquette, seemed to feel themselves at home at their own table. The removal of this restraint, and the excellent wine, served to make the last quarter of an hour spent over the dessert the pleasantest part of the repast. Millicent, sitting at the right hand of her host, at last succeeded in making him tell some anecdotes of his early Californian experiences, to which she listened with breathless interest. Her feelings were undergoing a radical change; and if the country which she at first detested had not yet become dear to her, she certainly felt the greatest interest and curiosity to learn more of it. In the old dreamy life of Venice, her days had been spent in golden visions of a vanished grandeur. She was now awaking to the stirring reality of the present, and felt dimly that to be an heir to the glories of the past was but a part of living,--an inheritance which affects us less than the actual doing and striving of our own times.

The party sat together in the library, with its comfortable chairs and rows of undisturbed books sleeping between their gilded covers, until late in the evening. The conversation was general, and the quick mind of the stranger guest learned from it much that roused her attention. "If I only had four ears instead of two!" she cried at last, after a vain endeavor to follow at the same time a discussion between Ferrara and Mr. Shallop on the best method of vine culture, and a conversation between Graham and Mrs. Shallop on the subject of the public schools. Soon after this, the ladies left the room; and Millicent, her pulses all a-tremble with the various new experiences of the day, was slow in falling asleep. That night her lips forgot to give their wonted homesick sigh for Italy, for Venice.

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