mantic nephew, and any
woman of rare common sense would see the advantages of my
position, but why burden a woman with that rare common sense
which robs her of the first and sweetest of her dreams? No, John
Stanhope, go back to your pipe and your books and your gardening,
your life of selfish, indolent do-nothing. Take life as it comes
most easily and naturally. By sparing one heart you may save two.

And that nephew of mine--what a fine, manly fellow he proved
himself when put to the test! The governor had been good to him
and he was going to stand by the governor. How my heart jumped,
and what a warm little feeling there was about the internal
cockles as I recalled his words. Bravely said, my boy, and nobly
done! I fear I should not have been so generous at your age, and
with Sylvia--

And with Sylvia! How the past crowded back at the thought of her!
Who are you, old dreamer, who neglected the gift the good gods
provided in the heydey of your youth to return to chase the
phantom of the past? Behind that little white cloud, sailing far
into the north, Sylvia may be peeping at you, and smiling at the
delusion of her ancient wooer. Or why not think that she is
pleading with you--pleading for her child and the lover, as she
might have pleaded for herself and somebody else, had somebody
else known his own heart before it was too late?

I watched the white cloud as it passed on and on, growing smaller
and fainter as it receded. I settled back still deeper in my
chair and sighed. And then--O unworthy knight of love!--and then,
I fell asleep.

In the morning, before the family was astir, I wrote a note,
pleading a sudden and imperative call to town, and vanished for
the day. I argued with myself that such a step was a delicate
consideration for a young woman, who, having listened to a
confession of love a few hours before, would be hardly at her
ease at a breakfast-table conversation. Incidentally I was not
altogether sure of myself, although I was much refreshed by an
excellent night's sleep which comes to every philosopher with
courage and strength to rise above the unpleasant things of life.
If Phyllis had yielded to an emotion of grief, there was little
trace of it when we met at evening. I fancied that she was
somewhat paler, and her manner at times seemed a little listless,
but otherwise there was no great departure from her usual
demeanor. As for myself the long sunshine of a summer day and the
conviction