stroking his eyebrows with his forefinger, and twisting the ends of an almost imperceptible moustache. Psyche saw through his pretences, and knew that he was annoyed, and she hated to annoy him. Why, then, did she not hand him over the letter? "I am on the point of setting sail," the letter ran, "and probably shall arrive soon after you receive this. At all events, I am resolved to be with you on Christmas Eve--your marriage eve! Death alone can forestall me in that pleasure. I have said good-bye to my barbarians, who were very sorry to lose me, and fear that I shall never return to them. But I will; and I mean to bring you two--or you one, as you will be by that time--with me. Yes, my good old people; for though your home is Eldorado, mine is Paradise! Never was so beautiful a country--so tender and serene a climate; such gentle-hearted and Christian barbarians! It is a real Paradise, large enough and lovely enough to tempt all good souls to migrate thither; and I come forth into the world to find colonists, and bring them back with me. You will come, Psyche? and then I shall make sure that Eros will follow you, sooner or later! "And so you are waiting for me to marry you? Well, I believe you are meant for each other, and I will do what I may to render your union sacred and perpetual. Not that I think mere earthly union is always the highest good for those who love. You know the old proverb; and there are lovers whose hearts never quite realise one another's worth until separation has taught it them. Do you love your old friend, who used to go nutting, boating, snow-balling, and story-telling with you, any the less because you haven't seen him for nine years? And would not you, Eros, love Psyche a thousand times better were some chance to part you from her awhile? You have never had her out of your sight, except when your eyes were shut, and you don't half know how dear she is to you. It would do you good were I to take her with me to my Paradise, and leave you behind. Until you know what it is to be alone, and to see what you most want beyond your immediate reach, you do not know everything. But perhaps you will be content not to know?" All this, and much more, did Psyche read to Eros. But at the end of the letter there was a postscript, having glanced at which she looked up towards her lover with a sudden apprehension in her eyes. His own happened to be averted; and after an instant's hesitation, she folded up the letter and said, "The rest is a secret!" "All right!" returned Eros, yawning, and getting up; "no woman can be entirely happy without a secret. Every man knows that; so I'll make you a Christmas present of this one." And with that he sauntered off, his hands in his pockets. When he was gone Psyche unfolded the letter and read the postscript again.