Gordon Keith

meant that he wanted to get a glimpse of a young girl with violet eyes and pink cheeks, stretched out in a lounging-chair, picturesquely reclining amid clouds of white pillows. Nearly alw

es for Mrs. Yorke. His friends, the Doctor and the Rawso

on, one afternoon as Gordon started off, at which Gordon blushed as re

y is used to pretty high feedin'." He had seen Mrs. Yorke driving along in much richer attire

than had been expected. She herself had proved a much le

formalities which convention has fixed among their seniors, especially

evenings sauntered with her through the fields of their limited experience, and quoted snatches from his chose

they had told each other a good deal of their past, and were finding the present very pleasant, and one of t

new expression of a more definite ambition and a

rn like this one, and, like this one, poor, wandering on the New England hills with another young girl, primmer, perhaps, and less sophisticated than this little maiden, who had come from the westward to spend a brief holiday on the banks o

lice Yorke there would be a softer tone in his voice, and he would talk a deeper and higher philosophy to her than she had ever heard, belittling the gaudy rewards of life, and instilling in her mind ideas of something loftier and better and finer than they. He even told her once something of the story of hi

, I hope she did not. I might forgive her if she did

ager face, had a kindly expression in them

married," he sa

exclaimed; and then more soft

s story in such a way as to convey the moral without disclosing that he spoke of himself. Yet sh

ith invited her to stroll with him on the mountain-side or up the

budding woods are a perilous pasture for their browsing thoughts. It was not without some insight that the ancient poets pict

mountains took on delicate shades, and the trees blo

tances of those who, wandering all innocent and joyous amid the bowers, have found the honey of poisonous flowers where they meant only innocence. But the reader will, perhaps, recall enough instances in a private and unrecorded history to fill the need of illustration. It

gnorance and knowledge, her little feminine outbreaks of caprice. One afternoon they had strolled farther than usual, as far even as the high pines beyond which was the great rock looking to

yes; and springing from her seat on the brown carpet, before he could in

nd as sure an eye as he could have shown himself, until she reached the top, when, looking down on him with dancing eyes, she kissed her hand in triumph and then turned away, her cheeks aglow. When he reached the top,

ack, I beg you," he sai

le nod to him, her blue eyes full of triumph

cold her, but sh

she said, and what he

k into both their minds, and after a

ter a long pause in which her face had grown thoughtful.

ot know that it was to see this even more than to br

ed with her sympathy, he told it with more feeling than he had ever shown before. When he spoke of the loss of his home, of his m

he one that we have now on Fifth Avenue is four times as large--yes, six times as large--and a hundred times as fine as the one I can first remember, and yet, somehow, I always think, when I am sad or lonely, of the little white house with the tiny rooms in it, with their low ceil

ck mine some day," sa

, and there was that in his face which she had never seen there b

ted Ferdy Wickersham for having spoken of

etting in throughout these last weeks. But the phases that she had shown that afternoon, her spirit, her courage, her capricious rebelliousness, and, above all, that glimpse into her heart which he had obtained as she sat on the rock overlookin