y, this music, belonged in no shape to me: it was a part of
himself; it was the honey of his temper; it was the balm of his mellow
mood; he imparted it, as the ripe fruit rewards with sweetness the
rifling bee; he diffused it about him, as sweet plants shed their
perfume. Does the nectarine love either the bee or bird it feeds? Is
the sweetbriar enamoured of the air?

"Good-night, Dr. John; you are good, you are beautiful; but you are not
mine. Good-night, and God bless you!"

Thus I closed my musings. "Good-night" left my lips in sound; I heard
the words spoken, and then I heard an echo--quite close.

"Good-night, Mademoiselle; or, rather, good-evening--the sun is scarce
set; I hope you slept well?"

I started, but was only discomposed a moment; I knew the voice and
speaker.

"Slept, Monsieur! When? where?"

"You may well inquire when--where. It seems you turn day into night,
and choose a desk for a pillow; rather hard lodging--?"

"It was softened for me, Monsieur, while I slept. That unseen,
gift-bringing thing which haunts my desk, remembered me. No matter how
I fell asleep; I awoke pillowed and covered."

"Did the shawls keep you warm?"

"Very warm. Do you ask thanks for them?"

"No. You looked pale in your slumbers: are you home-sick?"

"To be home-sick, one must have a home; which I have not."

"Then you have more need of a careful friend. I scarcely know any one,
Miss Lucy, who needs a friend more absolutely than you; your very
faults imperatively require it. You want so much checking, regulating,
and keeping down."

This idea of "keeping down" never left M. Paul's head; the most
habitual subjugation would, in my case, have failed to relieve him of
it. No matter; what did it signify? I listened to him, and did not
trouble myself to be too submissive; his occupation would have been
gone had I left him nothing to "keep down."

"You need watching, and watching over," he pursued; "and it is well for
you that I see this, and do my best to discharge both duties. I watch
you and others pretty closely, pretty constantly, nearer and oftener
than you or they think. Do you see that window with a light in it?"

He pointed to a lattice in one of the college boarding-houses.

"That," said he, "is a room I have hired, nominally for a
study--virtually for a post of observation. There I sit and read for
hours together: it is my way--my taste. My book is this garden; its
contents are human nature--female human