This period was one of mingled pain and pleasure to Merwyn. Remembering his interview with Mr. Vosburgh, he felt that he had been treated with a degree of confidence that was even generous. But he knew that from Mr. Vosburgh he did not receive full trust,--that there were certain topics which each touched upon with restraint. Even with the father he was made to feel that he had reached the limit of their friendly relations. They could advance no farther unless the barrier of his reserve was broken down. He believed that he was dissipating the prejudices of the daughter; that she was ceasing to dislike him personally. He exerted every faculty of his mind to interest her; he studied her tastes and views with careful analysis, that he might speak to her intelligently and acceptably. The kindling light in her eyes, and her animated tones, often proved that he succeeded. Was it the theme wholly that interested her? or was the speaker also gaining some place in her thoughts? He never could be quite certain as to these points, and yet the impression was growing stronger that if he came some day and said, quietly, "Good-by, Miss Vosburgh, I am going to face every danger which any man dare meet," she would give him both hands in friendly warmth, and that there would be an expression on her face which had never been turned towards him. A stormy day, not far from the middle of April, ended in a stormier evening. Marian had not been able to go out, and had suffered a little from ennui. Her mother had a headache, Mr. Vosburgh had gone to keep an appointment, and the evening promised to be an interminable one to the young girl. She unconsciously wished that Merwyn would come, and half-smilingly wondered whether he would brave the storm to see her. She was not kept long in suspense, for he soon appeared with a book which he wished to return, he said. "Papa is out," Marian began, affably, "and you will have to be content with seeing me. You have a morbidly acute conscience, Mr. Merwyn, to return a book on a night like this." "My conscience certainly is very troublesome." Almost before she was aware of it the trite saying slipped out, "Honest confession is good for the soul." "To some souls it is denied, Miss Vosburgh;" and there was a trace of bitterness in his tones. Then, with resolute promptness, he resumed their usual impersonal conversation.