But I did not describe that week at Hermon. Why should I describe these ten days at Boston? A day at Nahant, _al fresco_, with two perfect black waiters, who arranged the lunch on the grass, because no one had moved down to Nahant so early; a visit to Plymouth and the Forefathers' Rock; a visit to the Antiquarian Hall at Worcester, and one to the witches' home at Salem,--these occupied so many days. Then there was the famous ball given by the City of Boston to the Duke of Gerolstein in the Boston Theatre, when all Colonnade Row was taken for supper-tables. The old rules of the Verney family were wholly violated: all four of the girls went; and they danced with elegant young men till they almost died. And at last not only the ball was over, but everything else was over; and on the 24th of May the girls went home, after such a visit as even they were staggered to look back upon. Edward and Psyche took them to the train, and, when it had fairly rolled out of the station, she took both his hands, and they looked each other in the face and laughed till the tears ran out of all four eyes. And, as they mounted the carriage, Psyche said, "Now we will live like civilized beings again!" CHAPTER IV. Dear Psyche, could you not cast the future better? That day, as they had arranged, she packed her things and Geoffrey's for the country, and the next day they went, bag and baggage, to a beautiful place Mr. Ross had hired, at the corner of Hale Street and Beach Street, for a sea-shore home in Beverly, so that dear Geoffrey might have the south wind off the sea, the purest of air, and the freshest of salt-water brought up for his daily bath. The only grief was that Edward had to take the evening train for Boston five nights in the week. But he always appeared fresh and bright at breakfast; and in the bath at noon, in the daily walk, or in the evening ride to the station, life seemed all the happier because the three hags of Painted Post had returned to their lair. But this paradise lasted only a fortnight, when the tempter came. This letter arrived from Priscilla:-- "_Very Private_. "PAINTED POST, June 5. "MY DEAREST PSYCHE,--Your sisters and I have had a very serious _conversation_ about you and the _life_ you are leading. You seem to be very _happy_; but have you _thought_, my dear Psyche, that you are _dancing_ on the edge of a volcano? Have you asked no _question_ as to the future? Are you so blinded as _to forget_ that the wages of sin is death, and that _the joys_ of this moment are as nothing compared with _the terrors_ of eternity?