“Not if she resembles the photographs you’ve sent me,” replied Ratcliff. Then, looking at his watch, he added: “I leave for Charleston this afternoon, and haven’t time to see her now. Early in March I shall be back, and will call then.” “You must see her a minute,” said Mrs. Gentry. “I think you’ll admit she does no discredit to my bringing up.” And she rang the bell. “Tell Miss Murray, I desire her presence in the parlor.” Clara entered. She was attired in a plain robe of slate-colored muslin, exquisitely fitted, and had a book in her hand, as if just interrupted in study. She stood inquiringly before the schoolmistress, and seemed unconscious of another’s presence. “I wish you, Miss Murray, to play for this gentleman. Play the piece you last learnt.” Without the slightest shyness, Clara obeyed, seating herself at the piano, and performing Schubert’s delectable “Lob der Throenen,” (Eulogy of Tears,) with Liszt’s arrangement. This she did with an executive facility and precision of touch that would have charmed a competent judge, which Ratcliff was not. And yet astonishment made him speechless. He had expected an undeveloped, awkward, homely girl. Lo a beautiful young woman whose perfect composure and grace were such as few queens of society could exhibit! And all that youth and loveliness were his! He looked at his watch. Not another moment could he remain. He drew near to Clara and took her hand, which she quickly withdrew. “Only maiden coyness,” thought he, and said: “We must be better acquainted. But I must now hasten from your dangerous society, or I shall miss the steamer. Good by, my dear. Good by, Mrs. Gentry. You shall hear from me very soon.” And Mrs. Gentry rang the bell, and black Tarquin opened the door for Ratcliff. As it closed upon him, “Who is that old man?” asked Clara. “Old? Why, he does doesn’t look a year over forty,” replied Mrs. Gentry. “That’s the rich Mr. Ratcliff.” “Well, I detest him,” said Clara, emphatically. “Detest!” exclaimed Mrs. Gentry, horror-stricken; for it was not often that Clara condescended to speak her mind so freely to that lady. “Detest? Is this the end of all my moral and religious teachings? O, but you’ll be _come up with_, if you go on in this way. Retire to your room, Miss.” Swiftly and gladly Clara obeyed.