s.

That night as she lay in her bed hearing the rumble and jar of the
city's traffic, her mind recalled and dwelt upon the wonderful scenes,
especially the beautiful pictures which her eyes had gleaned from the
East. The magical, glittering spread of Manhattan harbor, the silver
sweep of the Hudson at West Point, the mighty panorama from Grant's
Tomb, the silken sheen of Fifth Avenue on a rainy night, the crash and
glitter of upper Broadway, the splendid halls of art, literature, and
especially of music and the drama--all these came back one by one to
claim a place beside her peaks and canons, sharing the glory of the
purple deeps and the snowy heights of the mountains she had hitherto
loved so single-heartedly and so well.

She saw Sibley now for what it was--a village almost barren of beauty--a
good, kindly, homey place, but so little and so dull! To go back there
to live was quite impossible. "If I quit Mart I must find something to
do here--in the East. I can't stand Sibley."

She longed for the Springs because of her home there and because of
Ben--but she realized that it possessed, after all, but very limited
opportunities for the purchase of culture. The great centres had begun
to exercise dominion over her. She had ever been a lonely little soul,
with no confidante of her own sex. Speech had never been fluent with
her, and she was still elliptical, curt, and in a sense inexpressive.
She had no chatter, and the ways of women were in many directions alien
to her. Miss Franklin had been her teacher, and yet, while respecting
her, she had never learned to love her. Next to Ben Fordyce she leaned
upon the judgment and sympathy of the sculptor, whose fine eyes were
aglow with a high purpose. She was certain that he was both good and
wise.

Mart was much amused at his father, who refused to sleep a second night
at the hotel. "It's too far from the street," said he. "I think I'll go
stay with Fan if ye'll lay out the course that leads to her dure." So
Lucius went with him, bearing a message from Haney: "Tell Fan I'll be
over to see her to-morrow. I'm too tired to go to-day," and the father
hurried away in joyous relief.

"'Tis unnatural to see a son of mine in such Babylonish splendor," he
confided to Lucius. "Faith, it gives me a turn every time I see him
unwind a bill from that big wad he carries in his pocket. 'Tis like
palin' a red onion to him--nothing more."

The Captain was up early next day, and eager to