ed between us,
for it was hard to persuade her that there was no longer any risk in my
meeting her. Her imagination was almost as deeply impressed as mine had
been at those alarming interviews, and I had to explain to her fully
that I had become quite indifferent to the disturbing impressions of
former years. So, as the result of our correspondence, Laura is coming
this evening, and I wish you to be present at our meeting. There is
another reason why I wish you to be here. My little boy is not far from
the--age at which I received my terrifying, almost disorganizing shock.
I mean to have little Maurice brought into the presence of Laura, who is
said to be still a very handsome woman, and see if he betrays any hint
of that peculiar sensitiveness which showed itself in my threatening
seizure. It seemed to me not impossible that he might inherit some
tendency of that nature, and I wanted you to be at hand if any sign of
danger should declare itself. For myself I have no fear. Some radical
change has taken place in my nervous system. I have been born again, as
it were, in my susceptibilities, and am in certain respects a new man.
But I must know how it is with my little Maurice."

Imagine with what interest I looked forward to this experiment; for
experiment it was, and not without its sources of anxiety, as it seemed
to me. The evening wore along; friends and neighbors came in, but
no Laura as yet. At last I heard the sound of wheels, and a carriage
stopped at the door. Two ladies and a gentleman got out, and soon
entered the drawing room.

"My cousin Laura!" whispered Maurice to me, and went forward to
meet her. A very handsome woman, who might well have been in the
thirties,--one of those women so thoroughly constituted that they cannot
help being handsome at every period of life. I watched them both as
they approached each other. Both looked pale at first, but Maurice soon
recovered his usual color, and Laura's natural, rich bloom came back by
degrees. Their emotion at meeting was not to be wondered at, but there
was no trace in it of the paralyzing influence on the great centres of
life which had once acted upon its fated victim like the fabled head
which turned the looker-on into a stone.

"Is the boy still awake?" said Maurice to Paolo, who, as they used to
say of Pushee at the old Anchor Tavern, was everywhere at once on that
gay and busy evening.

"What! Mahser Maurice asleep an' all this racket going on? I hea