church, as standing, his stout form erect, his broad shoulders thrown back _à-la-militaire_, his chest expanding with self-importance, he called himself a ‘miserable sinner.’ On the first Sunday of my installation he invited me home to dinner with him, and with stately, old-fashioned courtesy conducted me to his carriage that stood waiting at the church-door, and there, as I stepped in, I first saw Fanny Raymond, then a child of twelve years of age, a lovely, little, shrinking creature, who squeezed herself quite into the corner as I took the seat by her side, as you have often seen a playful white kitten draw herself up between fear and defiance, and I instantly felt the same impulse to catch the lovely, shy thing to my bosom that you would have felt to play with the said kitten. So strong was this impulse that it must have spoken through look and gesture, and might have been obeyed but that the pompous old general followed me immediately into the carriage, and announced, “My daughter, Miss Raymond,” with as much ceremony as though the sweet child had been a woman of five-and-twenty. She sat there, watching me furtively, her sweet eyes flashing their soft shy light under the shadowy lashes, and quickly averted when met by mine, while rose clouds would roll up over her snowy cheeks. That sweet, shy spirit, whether in the violet, in the fawn, or in the timid girl, always attracted me, Sophie. It was your eyes, that meeting my glance, would startle and dilate in beautiful haze that provoked _your_ fate, Sophie. I would have given anything—my parish—the world, then and there to have caught the shrinking child to my bosom, and hugged, and kissed, and romped with her to my heart’s content. From that day I was a frequent, and always a welcome and an honored guest at the villa. Time passed, and I rose in popularity, winning golden opinions from all sorts of people, and especially from women. As long as a young minister remains unmarried, unappropriated, unmonopolized, he is sure to be popular; so _my_ popularity continued to increase for three years. While watching the development of the child, Fanny Raymond, I had sought the society of no woman. When Fanny was about fifteen years of age, I was sent for one day to the villa. It was to be put in possession of an attested copy of General Raymond’s will, by a clause of which I was appointed sole trustee of the estate, until Fanny should come of age. It was during this visit, and in the presence of one of the old ladies of the parish, that General Raymond remarked, ‘I am now upwards of eighty years old—I am failing fast; I should like to see Fanny married before my departure, but, alas! that is a comfort for which I dare scarcely pray.’ Up to that time I had not thought of aspiring to the hand of General Raymond’s heiress. It was my lot that evening to drive the old lady, my fellow-visitor, back to the village in the General’s carriage.