"No, I take the seeming." "Unsafe road, young lady! don't take it,--take mine. Just ask Abraham whose face that is, then come and tell me what he tells you." "Breach of confidence, Doctor Eaton. I couldn't do it possibly." "You'll tell me, though, depend upon it," he said, and was carried off in great haste to repair a broken bone, and I saw him no more, until--when? I found the reason why Sophie must go home without one word for me. Aaron had said that he would like some peculiar admixture of flour, etc.; and she had feared that he might meet disappointment, unless she prevented it by hurrying home and adding the ingredient of her hands for his delectable comfort, which bit of spicery he undoubtedly appreciated to the complete value of the sacrifice. Sophie is wise in her day and generation. I look with affectionate, reverent admiration upon her life. It seems that she is in just the position that Creating Wisdom fitted her for. I saw Aaron looking at her across the table. She was preparing for him his cup of tea; and of course he had nought to do save to wait, and in waiting he watched her. What was it that I saw? I cannot tell. Why, how is this? the world has two sides, two phases; how many more I cannot know. That which I saw in Aaron's face was a something transitory, a nebulous luminousness of an existence that I had not known, had not imagined, having never before received intimation of it. Why will light evanish so soon?--the fragment that shone in on this _Terra Incognita_ went out, was submerged in the Cup of _Thea Sinensis_ that Aaron received from Sophie's hand. I cannot divine why all this new world of being should fancy to unroll itself, an endless panorama of pansophical mysteries, before my eyes. I do not appreciate it in the least. Philip Bailey's "Mystic" is more comprehensible to me. This is a practical, matter-of-fact world; I know it is. Sophie Percival, my sister, is the wife of Aaron Wilton, country-clergyman in Redleaf,--nothing more; and I thought of my untasted cup of tea, in which lay condensed all the fragrance of Wooeshan hill-sides. "Why not take your tea, Anna?" Sophie asked, just as I had decided not to think of the things that misted around me. My answer was a taste of it. I really thought I was doing my duty, when Sophie's words came upon me, a little distractingly,-- "Will you have more sugar in your tea, Anna?" "No, I thank you." Aaron said,-- "The house of Axtell seems to have stolen away your proper self, Anna. I've been watching you, and I don't really think you've any idea of what you are subsisting on. Tell me now, what _is_ upon the table?" and Aaron held a newspaper, lying conveniently near, before my eyes. "Confession and absolution are synonymous with you, aren't they, Aaron?" I asked. "Please give me some bread"; and I put the disagreeable paper away. There was no bread upon the table. "My wisdom is confirmed," said Aaron; and he gave me the delectable substitute, Sophie's handiwork.