frankness as well as the timidity of a nature unalarmed and (in this kind) knowing no evil. Love was to her an angel, the first of the angels--inspiring awe, but no terror. She went to her work feeling as if she walked to some noble strain of music. Nothing could irritate her, nothing put her out. That evening Lottie went out upon the Slopes in the dusk to breathe the evening air and give herself that fresher, sweeter medium for her dreams. Law was out, the Captain was out as usual; and the little house was very still with only Mary in the kitchen (for most of her time hanging about the back entrance looking for the baker), and Lottie upstairs. Somehow to-night Lottie did not wait for Captain Temple, who had constituted himself her escort, but as soon as it began to be really evening stole out by herself and made her way quickly up the Dean’s Walk, not anxious to join anyone. She wanted to be alone for her thoughts. It was not that the slightest idea of meeting Rollo entered into her mind--how should it? The dinners at the Deanery were not like the afternoon meal in the Chevaliers’ lodges, out of which all the inhabitants streamed as soon as that was over, to get the good of the summer night. Summer--for, though it was beginning to be autumn, it was still summer--warm, soft, delicious evenings with so much dusk in them, and misty sweetness. Lottie wanted nothing at that moment of dreamy happiness but silence and her own thoughts; more, however, was in store for her. The Deanery dinner was a family dinner that evening, and while the Dean read the evening paper, and Lady Caroline put up her feet on the sofa, what was a young man to do? He said he would go over to the Signor’s and talk music and smoke a cigar; and the elder people, though they were fond of Rollo, were not sorry to be rid of him. He wanted, perhaps, to enjoy his triumph over the Signor, or to find out what his plans were and expectations of Lottie’s voice; or, perhaps, only he wanted a little variety, feeling the company of his venerated relations too much pleasure. But, though he was not so full of dreams as Lottie, something of the same charmed mood was in his mind. And when caprice made him take the turn up to the Slopes also, instead of going the other way through the Cloisters to the musician’s house--and when the two caught sight of each other, they both started with genuine surprise, and there was on Lottie’s side even a little alarm. She was too shy to beg him in so many words to go away, but it was only the want of courage which kept her from saying so. It was too much; it did not seem right to meet him again; but then Lottie reflected that to the merest acquaintance she was bound to be polite. Mr. Ridsdale had the same thought. He was unfeignedly delighted to see her, finding this way of escape from all possibility of dulness much more complete than he thought; but yet he felt that perhaps a second encounter so soon, and in