And the result of this investigation was, the instant establishment, upon a firm basis, of ease and confidence. For few men or women, much less children or girls, ever looked into Mr. Rutledge's face, without feeling that they saw their master, but withal so firm and kind a master, that all thought of resistance to his will, or stubborn maintenance of their own, together with all foolish vanity and consciousness, vanished at once and forever, or returned but seldom, and was soon conquered. If I had cherished any romantic hope that this "accomplished gentleman" might prove anything out of which I could make that dearest dream of schoolgirl's heart, a lover, I likewise relinquished that most speedily, for nothing in the person before me, gave encouragement to such an idea. Rather below than above the medium size, and of a firm, well-proportioned figure, Mr. Rutledge gave one, from his commanding and decided carriage, the impression of a much larger man. His dark hair was slightly dashed with grey, his eyes were keen and cold, the lines of care and thought about his brow were deep and strong. If his face could be said to have an attraction, it lay in the rare smile that sometimes changed the sternness of his mouth into winning sweetness and grace. But this was so rare that it could hardly be called a characteristic of his habitually cold stern face. That it wore it that evening however, I knew then as now, was because I was a child, and a miserable, frightened one besides. I never doubted that he knew how I felt, and read me thoroughly. The interview was, according to the prim little clock on the mantelpiece, by no means a long one; and after introducing (with but indifferent grace) Miss Crowen, who entered the room with elephantine tread, to my visitor, he took leave, having arranged to come for me the next morning at six. That last evening, with its half-strange, excited novelty of leave-taking, and last messages and last thoughts, is still distinct in my memory; and the start with which I answered Biddy's call in the darkness of the November morning, the dressing with cold hurried hands that were not half equal to the task, the wild way in which everything came dancing through my mind, as I tried to say my prayers, the utter inability to taste a mouthful of the breakfast Miss Crowen herself had superintended, the thrill with which I heard the carriage drive up to the door, are as vivid as recollections can well be. And I am in no danger, either of forgetting the moment, when, with half a dozen of my schoolfellows who had been allowed to see me off, I descended the steps toward the carriage, the door of which Mr. Rutledge was holding open. The kind good bye of Miss Crowen, the warm embraces of the girls, Nelly's tears, Agnes' wistful look, are memories I cannot part with if I would.