speak, of
thoughts, of ideas, of narrations, was one of her strongest charms. By
reason of this, the world was often unjust to her in its comments on her
manner, on her relations with men. The world more than once accused her
uncharitably of flirting. But the men with whom she had friendships knew
better; and now and then a woman had the insight to be just to her, to see
that she was quite capable of regarding a human being as objectively as
she would a flower or a mountain or a star. The blending of this trait in
her with the strong capacity she had for loving individuals was singular;
not more so, perhaps, than the blending of the poetic temperament with the
active, energetic, and practical side of her nature.

It was not long before her name began to be mentioned in connection with
Parson Dorrance's, by the busy tongues which are always in motion in small
villages. It was not long, moreover, before a thought and a hope, in which
both these names were allied, crept into the heart of Lizzy Hunter.

"Oh," she thought, "if only Uncle Dorrance would marry Mercy, how happy I
should be, she would be, every one would be."

No suspicion of the relation in which Mercy stood to Stephen White had
ever crossed Mrs. Hunter's mind. She had never known Stephen until
recently; and his manner towards her had been from the outset so chilled
and constrained by his unconscious jealousy of every new friend Mercy
made, that she had set him down in her own mind as a dull and surly man,
and rarely thought of him. And, as one of poor Mercy's many devices for
keeping up with her conscience a semblance of honesty in the matter of
Stephen was the entire omission of all reference to him in her
conversation, nothing occurred to remind her friends of him. Parson
Dorrance, indeed, had said to her one day,--

"You never speak of Mr. White, Mercy. Is he an agreeable and kind
landlord?"

Mercy started, looked bewilderedly in the Parson's face, and repeated his
words mechanically,--

"Landlord?" Then recollecting herself, she exclaimed, "Oh, yes! we do pay
rent to him; but it was paid for the whole year in advance, and I had
forgotten all about it."

Parson Dorrance had had occasion to distrust Stephen's father, and he
distrusted the son. "Advance? advance?" he exclaimed. "Why did you do
that, child? That was all wrong."

"Oh, no!" said Mercy, eagerly. "I had the money, and it made no difference
to me; and Mr. Allen told me that Mr. White was