Looking up, she descried Paula kneeling beside her bed in the faint morning light, her cheeks burning, and her eyelids drooping; and guessing perhaps how it was, started up from her recumbent position with an energy strongly suggestive of the charger, that smells the battle afar off. “What has happened?” she asked. “You look as if you had not slept a wink.” For reply Paula pulled aside the curtain at the head of her bed, and slipped into her hand Mr. Ensign’s letter. Miss Belinda read it conscientiously through, with many grunts of approval, and having finished it, laid it down with a significant nod, after which she turned and surveyed Paula with keen but cautious scrutiny. “And you don’t know what answer to give,” she asked. “I should,” said Paula, “if—Oh aunt, you know what stands in my way! I have seen it in your eyes for some time. There is some one else—” “But he has not spoken?” vigorously ejaculated her aunt. Without answering, Paula put into her hand, with a slow reluctance she had not manifested before, a second little note, and then hid her head amid the bedclothes, waiting with quickly beating heart for what her aunt might say. She did not seem in haste to speak, but when she did, her words came with a quick sigh that echoed very drearily in the young girl’s anxious ears. “You have been placed by this in a somewhat painful position. I sympathize with you, my child. It is very hard to give denial to a benefactor.” Paula’s head drew nearer to her aunt’s breast, her arms crept round her neck. “But must I?” she breathed. Miss Belinda knitted her brows with great force, and stared severely at the wall opposite. “I am sorry there is any question about it,” she replied. Paula started up and looked at her with sudden determination. “Aunt,” said she, “what is your objection to Mr. Sylvester?” Miss Belinda shook her head, and pushing the girl gently away, hurriedly arose and began dressing with great rapidity. Not until she was entirely prepared for breakfast did she draw Paula to her, and prepare to answer her question. “My objection to him is, that I do not thoroughly understand him. I am afraid of the skeleton in the closet, Paula. I never feel at ease when I am with him, much as I admire his conversation and appreciate the undoubtedly noble instincts of his heart. His brow is not open enough to satisfy an eye which has accustomed itself to the study of human nature.” “He has had many sorrows!” Paula faintly exclaimed, stricken by this echo of her own doubts. “Yes,” returned her aunt, “and sorrow bows the head and darkens the eye, but it does not make the glance wavering or its expression mysterious.”