“Puir human bodies are sic’ fules, Wi’ a’ their colleges and schules, That when nae real ills perplex ’em, They mak eno’ themsel’s to vex ’em,” sang Alice; then said: “Oh, Magnus! with all your knowledge—with your classic, and mathematic, and philosophic, and metaphysic learning—with all your knowledge, not to know a young girl’s heart better than that! Oh, Magnus! ‘with all your getting, get wisdom, get understanding.’” “Alice, Cousin Alice! Do you mean to intimate what sometimes I have madly hoped—that I have been mistaken, that Elsie does——” “That Elsie loves you a thousandfold more now, that she avoids you, than she did while she laughed, and talked, and romped with you. Oh, man! you should have found this out for yourself, and not have put me to the shame of betraying my child. And now, never let me hear another word of your self-sacrificing resignation of Elsie’s hand, or I shall take you at your word, as she would do now, for I don’t believe in it. I have more faith in the cruelest demonstrations of a downright, honest, sincere, human passion than in all the self-martyrizing resignation in the world!” said Alice, with a strange asperity, for her thoughts flew back again to the past. “Go, Magnus! You will find Elsie in the ballroom. Go, Magnus; I love you, or I never would have said all that I have said to you.” Magnus seized the hand of Alice, pressed it to his heart, to his lips, and darted from the room in search of his betrothed. He found her in the large saloon, described in the beginning of this story as occupying the whole of the righthand wing of the house. She was standing at a table, arranging a large bouquet in a marble vase. He stole softly up behind her, and, restraining the impetuous force of his emotions, passed his arm gently around her waist, and drew her—so gently!—to his heart. And Elsie’s head sank upon his shoulder. He raised her chin and kissed her—still so gently!—as fearing to startle her shy trust and again frighten her away. So gently, and trembling all over, for in his bosom he held a young tornado in check. At last she moved to withdraw herself from his arms; he pressed her once more to his bosom, printed one more kiss upon her lips, and let her go. So quiet and so silent was their reconciliation. He stood there where she left him in a happy trance, until the company began to drop in one by one, and in couples, and trios, and in small parties. And then he wandered on by himself. He strolled down the shaded avenue, and through the gate, and over the burnished hills, now brown with the sear wind of November, under the cold deep-blue starlit skies, wrapped in a blissful dream, until the sudden peal of music from the house awoke him.