"Grandpa, don't look so troubled. I am very sorry, too, about the diploma; but if I am not to have it, why, there is no use in worrying about it. Madam St. Cymon is willing to employ me as I am, and certainly I should feel grateful for her preference, when there are several applicants for the place. She told me this evening that she thought I would find no difficulty in performing what would be required of me." This was uttered in a cheerful tone, which might have succeeded very well had the sorrowful face been veiled. "Ah, Clara, you don't dream of the burden you are taking upon yourself! The position of assistant teacher in an establishment like Madam St. Cymon's is one that you are by nature totally unfitted for. Child, it will gall your spirit; it will be unendurable." The old man sighed heavily. "Still, I have been educated with an eye to teaching, and though I am now to occupy a very subordinate place, the trials will not be augmented. On the whole, I do not know but it is best as it is. Do not try to discourage me. It is all I can do, and I am determined I will not despond about what can't be helped." "My dear child, I did not mean to depress you. But you are so young to bow your neck to such a yoke! How old are you?" He turned round to look at her. "Only sixteen and a few months. Life is before me yet, an untrodden plain. Who knows but this narrow path of duty may lead to a calm, sweet resting-place for us both? I was thinking just now of that passage from your favorite Wallenstein:" "My soul's secure! In the night only, Friedland's stars can beam.' "The darkness has come down upon us, grandpa; let us wait patiently for the uprising of stars. I am not afraid of the night." There was silence for some moments; then the old man rose, and, putting back the white locks which had fallen over his face, asked, in a subdued tone: "When will you commence your work?" "To-morrow, sir."