by the table for a while, turning over the January magazines, looking at the table of contents or glancing at some article or illustration. Catholicism versus Ultramontanism--Why Ireland is Disloyal--Drama of the Future--The Coal Strike and its Lessons--Labour and the Trusts--Labour and Capital--Municipalization of Public Services--The Battleship of the Future--The War against Disease--Tschaikowsky and Tolstoy--Mankind in the Making--Mendel's Law--The Advancement of Woman--The Woman who Toils--Variation in Man and Woman--Genesis of the Æsthetic Categories--New Metaphysical Movement--Inversion of Ideas as to the Structure of the Universe--The World and the Individual.--After a while she left these and the table and moved to one of the alcoves. It was not a day somehow for magazines. The rows of books! Her gaze lingered with fondness upon them--this familiar title, this loved old friend and that. Finally she drew forth a volume of Keats, and with it sat down in the sweet air from the window. "No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf'sbane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine--" An hour passed. A man, who had come into the room a few minutes before, was standing, looking about him--evidently the first time he had been in the building. The librarian joined him. "It's a pleasant old place, isn't it?" she said politely. "It certainly is," answered the man. "But it's so curious with that narrow stair and these deep-set windows." "Yes. You see it's the old jail. Once they kept men here instead of books." There was a pause. Then the man said, "This is the nobler use, don't you think?" "Oh," said the librarian; "but of course they were wicked men--that is, most of them. There wasn't anything else to do with them." "I see," said the man. He looked about him. "Well, it's sweet and clean and useful now at last!" Some one called the librarian and she went away. The man moved on with slow steps from alcove to alcove. Hagar, from her recess, watched him, fascinated. Her book had fallen upon the floor. With half of her mind she was again in a poor hall in New York on a winter night.... Five or six people entered the library together. They came between her and the man she was following with her eyes. When at last they moved from before her alcove, she saw him leaving the place. Before she could hastily rise and come out into the wider space he was out of the room upon the landing--he was going downstairs. She caught up the book from the floor, thrust it hurriedly into its place, and with a light and rapid step followed. He was at the foot of the stair when she reached the head. "Oh," she called, "will you stop--will you wait?" He stopped short, turned. She was halfway down the stair, which was not long. "I beg your pardon. Was it to me you were speaking?" "Yes!" She came up with him--they stood together in the light-washed doorway. "I--You do not remember me." She put up her hand and took off her wide hat of straw and lace. "Do you, now?"