Hopgood in his surprise stared after him somewhat awe-struck. But when the door had quite closed, he caught up his child almost passionately in his arms, and crushing her against his breast, asked, while his eye roamed round the humble room that in its warmth and comfort was a palace to him, “Will he take the first opportunity to have me dismissed, or will his heart forgive the expression of my momentary doubts, for the sake of this poor wee one that he so tenderly fancies?” The question did not answer itself, and indeed it was one to which time alone could reply. BOOK III. THE JAPHA MYSTERY. XXIII. THE POEM. “I’ve shot my arrow o’er the house And hurt my brother.” —HAMLET. When Miss Belinda first saw Paula, she did not, like her sister, remark upon the elegance of her appearance, the growth of her beauty, or the evidences of increased refinement in the expression of her countenance and the carriage of her form, but with her usual penetration noted simply, the sadness in her eye and the tremulous motion of her lip. “You had then become fond of your cousin?” queried she with characteristic bluntness. Paula not understanding the motive of this remark, questioned her with a look. “Young faces do not grow pale or bright eyes become troubled without a cause. Grief for your cousin might explain it, but if you have suffered from no grief—” “My cousin was very kind to me,” hurriedly interrupted Paula. “Her death was very sudden and very heart-rending.” “So it was;” returned Miss Belinda, “and I expected to see you look worn and sad but not restless and feverish. You have a living grief, Paula, what is it?” The young girl started and looked down. For the first time in her life she wished to avoid that penetrating glance. “If I have, I cannot talk of it,” she murmured. “I have experienced so much this past week; my coming away was so unexpected, that I hardly understand my own feelings, or realize just what it is that troubles me most. All that I know is, that I am very tired and so sad, it seems as if the sun would never shine again.” “There is then something you have not written me?” inquired the inexorable Miss Belinda. “The experiences of this last week could never be written,—or told,” returned Paula with a droop of her head. “Upon some things our better wisdom places a stone which only the angels can roll away. The future lies all open before us; do not let us disturb the past.” And Miss Belinda was forced to be content lest she should seem to be over anxious.