Harrington, who was just putting out his hand to unfasten the carriage door, leaned forward, while Emily turned away. The young man felt, with a delicious thrill, the balmy breath of Muriel on his cheek, and her soft lips touch his ear, and the hot blood flew to his face before she had spoken a word. “John,” she whispered, “you write your article to make some money. Hush, now! Let it go, and let me supply you—just for once now, pray do. Don’t be proud and foolish, but let me make you a present, for I have plenty, and come with us and have a day of recreation, for you are pale with work and study—now, John.” “Now, John,” was said aloud with arch reproach, for Harrington had drawn back, flushed and laughing, with a gesture of negation. “Not a bit of it,” he answered, gaily. “Did I ever?” “No, you never did, bad young man that you are,” returned Muriel, aloud, with a face of playful reproach. “But see here, John”—she bent forward again to whisper, her face so sweetly pleading that it was hard to resist giving the besought audience. “I won’t—that’s flat,” said Harrington, laughing and blushing, and putting out his hand to the hasp, for he felt that Muriel’s entreaty was getting dangerous. “Very well,” she said. “That’s settled. But come up to tea this evening—come up early, if you can, and we’ll have a fencing lesson, and then, after tea, we’ll go to the Convention, trusting our luck to hear Wendell Phillips. How will that do?” “Capital,” replied Harrington. “I’ll come.” “And bring Wentworth with you.” “Yes. Good bye. Good bye, Emily.” Emily turned and nodded, with her face scarlet at the mention of Wentworth’s name. She had been living in broader life for the last hour, and now her heart was painfully sinking back to its private love and sorrow. Without stopping the carriage, Harrington opened the door, sprang out, and walked for a moment between the wheels to refix the hasp, then stepped back, touched his hat, and was gone. Muriel turned and watched from the oval window in the back of the carriage his martial figure as it strode up the street. “There goes a chevalier,” she said, gaily, as she turned away. “Yes,” replied Emily. “First in war, first in peace”— “And first in the hearts of his countrywomen,” concluded Muriel. They laughed merrily, and the carriage went on. CHAPTER IX. SCHOLAR AND SOLDIER. Harrington lived in Chambers street, not far from where he had left the carriage, and strode on over the pavement of Cambridge street to his house, drawing in deep breaths of the delicious, cool, spring air, and thinking with a rapt heart of Muriel.