In the later morning I saw the young lady. My misfortunes called forth from her expressions of sincerest pity; indeed, she bitterly reproached herself for having been the direct cause of them. When I described my narrow escape from death by suffocation, she grew so pale that I thought she must feel considerable interest in me, although I immediately reflected that it could not be very pleasant to have one's next-door neighbor roasted alive. By-and-by I told her of my two dreams, and of the way in which I finally kept faith with Antaeus. “It is a shame that you had to burn up your house to do it,” she commented, “when a brush-heap might have answered the purpose quite as well.” I thought--or I hoped--that the time had come for making a decisive move with some chance of its being effective. I furtively possessed myself of her hand. “I should not regret the house so much,” said I, “if I might hope you would deign to extend to me the favor with which Electra has made Antaeus happy.” This was bunglingly put, but she understood me well enough, although she murmured in reply: “You have it already; we are--acquainted. Surely you don't want--anything--more.” But she did not withdraw her hand. I have just heard that the town fathers contemplate purchasing Antaeus and giving him a permanent residence “within our borders.” If this report be true, I shall use all my influence--from motives of gratitude--to have him lodged beside the engine-house, so that he may be near his bewitching Electra. [Illustration: 0238] WHICH MISS CHARTERIS? By C. G. Rogers [Illustration: 0239] [Illustration: 9239] AVING completed his breakfast, Mr. Percy Darley seated himself in a n easy-chair, facing the cheerful grate-fire of ruddy anthracite, placed his toes upon the fender, and relapsed into a thoughtful contemplation of Leonard's letter. “You had best come, my dear boy,” said the letter. “It is a sleepy little town--one of those idyllic Acadian places of which you used to rave when you were tired of the city and fretful at her ways. We can smoke our pipes and chat over the old days, before a fire in my big, old-fashioned grate. There is a noble stretch of clear ice here now. Our little river is frozen over, solid and safe, and the darkest prospects do not foreshadow another fall of snow for a fortnight. The sleighing is superb; and, as Madeline Bridges says, 'the nights are splendid.' Pack up your traps and come.” The invitation was an alluring one, thought Darley. His head ached, and his heart was sick of the everlasting round of parties and calls and suppers. What a vision of beatific rest that idea of a chat over old times! Ah, dear old times of childhood and youth, when our tears are as ephemeral as our spendthrift dimes!