Suddenly to the young man looking at the girl a conviction as of some subtle spiritual perfume came; he had seen her beauty before, he had realized her charm, but this was something different. A boundless approbation and approval which was infinitely more precious than admiration seized him. Her character began to reveal itself, to come in contact with his own; he felt the warmth of it through the veil of flesh. He felt a sense of reliance as upon an inexhaustibility of goodness in another soul. He felt something which was more than love, being purely unselfish, with as yet no desire of possession. "Here is a good, true woman," he said to himself. "Here is a good, true woman, who has blossomed from a good, true child." He saw a wonderful faithfulness shining in her blue eyes, he saw truth itself on her lips, and could have gone down at the feet of the little girl in the pink cotton frock. Going home he tried to laugh at himself, but could not succeed. It is easy to shake off the clasp of a hand of flesh, but not the clasp of another soul. Ellen on her part was at once overwhelmed with delight and confusion. She felt the fervor of admiration in the young man's attitude towards her, but she was painfully conscious of her undeservingness. She had always felt guilty about her silence and disobedience towards her parents, and as for any self-approbation for it, that had been the farthest from her thoughts. She murmured something deprecatingly, but Lloyd cut her short. "It's no use crying off," said he; "you are one girl in a thousand, and I thank you, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It might have made awful trouble. My aunt Lizzie told me what a commotion there was over it." "I ran away," said Ellen, anxiously. Suddenly it occurred to her he might think Cynthia worse than she had been. "Never mind," said Lloyd--"never mind. I know what you did. You held your blessed little tongue to save somebody else, and let yourself be blamed." The door which led into the sitting-room opened, and Andrew looked in. He made a shy motion when he saw Lloyd; still, he came forward. His own callers had gone, and he had heard voices in the parlor, and had feared Granville Joy was calling upon Ellen. As he came forward, Ellen introduced him shyly. "This is Mr. Lloyd, father," she said. "Mr. Lloyd, this is my father." Then she added, "He came to bring back my valedictory." She was very awkward, but it was the charming awkwardness of a beautiful child. She looked exceedingly childish standing beside her father, looking into his worn, embarrassed face. Lloyd shook hands with Andrew, and said something about the valedictory, which he had enjoyed reading. "She wrote it all herself without a bit of help from the teacher," said Andrew, with wistful pride. "It is remarkably well written," said Robert. "You didn't hear it read at the hall?" said Andrew. "No, I had not that good fortune." "You ought to have heard them clap," said Andrew.