"I thought everything was going on so smoothly," she mused, "and now here is what Clem himself would term a cross on the wire! and no one can find out where it is! Doesn't she love him, I wonder? I should, if I was she! Does he love her? if he does not, he is no kind of a hero! Ah! I know what would test the matter! a crisis! Now, for instance, if the house would only get on fire, and Nat burn up--that is, almost--and Clem save her just in time--that is the sort of thing that brings these heroes to terms in the dramas! but I suppose--everything is so different in real life--Clem would not wake up in time, and she would burn to a crisp--or some one else would save her first--Quimby, for instance, he is always doing something he ought not! no, I don't think it would do to risk it! nevertheless, I am convinced that a crisis is what is essential to complete the circuit, telegraphically speaking, or in other words, to bring down the curtain on every body, embracing everybody, with great _eclat!_" CHAPTER XIII. THE WRONG WOMAN. Somewhat exultant over the new aspect of affairs, and unable longer to endure the strain of the load of love he was carrying about with him, Quimby came to a desperate determination. This was no other, than to confide in his room-mate, and once dreaded rival, and then, provided he was not thrown out of the window, or kicked down stairs, ask his advice about how to render himself clearly understood by _her_, at the same time relating his former unfortunate attempt. This programme he carried into effect one morning, as Clem was blacking his boots. Perhaps he had made private calculations on a blacking-brush hitting a man with less damage than some larger article. "I say, Clem!" Quimby began, "I--I want to ask your advice, you know!" "I am at your service, my dear boy," replied the unsuspecting Clem, rubbing away at his boot. "Well--I--I want to know--the fact is, I--I am boiling over with love!" "What!" exclaimed Clem, looking up with an amused smile, "you are not in love with Cyn too, are you?" "With Cyn, _too_?" These words were balm to the soul of Quimby, and gave him courage to answer eagerly, "Ah! no use in that for _me_, you know! It--it is _she_--Miss Rogers--Nattie--you know!" The blacking-brush left Clem's hand, but not to fly at the expectant Quimby. It simply dropped onto the floor, while Clem gave vent to his feelings in a prolonged whistle. "Is it possible!" he said, having thus relieved himself of his first astonishment. "I might have suspected as much if I had stopped to think, though!" "Yes, I--I think I showed it plain enough, you know!" said Quimby candidly. "You see, I--I tried to tell her of it once, before you came here, when you were invisible, you know, but some way she--she didn't just understand, and--and bolted, you know! So just tell me how to do it, that is a good fellow, for do it I must!"