I seemed a child again, and, with my childhood's prayer upon my lips, I dropped to sleep that night. I would love to sit and write till night about my after-life there, but I have limited myself to one little episode, and to that I will proceed. I had been there some months; Elizabeth had learned that we were so unlike that we could love, and neither be enemies nor rivals. Her high, ambitious, buoyant spirit had nothing to fear from the timid, yielding, sensitive girl who was to be her companion. Not a single trait in the character of each came in collision. One was self-reliant, could keep her own secrets, extricate herself from her own difficulties, feared none but God, cared little for the opinion of others, loved deeply, hated cordially. The other had an inordinate "love of approbation," lacked hope and courage, but, supported by a stronger arm, could endure the bitterest trial even to the end. The one was proud to uphold, the other loved to trust. And thus we moved on, loved and loving, whereas, had we resembled each other more closely, bitter heart-burnings and jealousies might have been the result. One day we sat together in the little sitting-room. We were reading "Deerbrook," by Miss Martineau, and wondering that such want of trust and faith should ever take place between sisters, when the door-bell rang, and a young gentleman, a total stranger to us, was ushered in. He was a tall young man, with a fresh countenance, a somewhat diffident manner, and gray eyes, which had a downcast expression. It was difficult for him to observe that simple rule of politeness, "Look directly at the person to whom you speak." Mr. Warner endeavoured to make him more at his ease by casual remarks upon the weather, and other topics of the day; but he elicited little besides "Yes, sir," "No, sir," "I agree with you perfectly, sir," and suchlike replies. At last he drew a card from his pocket, and handed it to Mr. Warner, saying, "I have been in town some days, and am looking out for an office. Learning that the one near your house is unoccupied, I have made an early application." "I will think of it," said the old gentleman. "This is Dr. Vandorsen, ladies, come to take up his residence in our village." This somewhat awkward introduction over, I took the opportunity to slip out of the room, just as they commenced talking upon the terms of rent and other business matters. "Well, now," said Elizabeth, as she came hastily into my room, an hour afterwards; "what do you think of the Doctor?" "Why, I haven't thought of him since I left the room; I have been preparing my lesson in Butler's Analogy, and I assure you it requires all the strength of my feeble brain to grasp his arguments and make them clear to my class." "A truce to such work! I thought you had been studying the young stranger's physiognomy, and were prepared to give me an analysis of his character."