procated, since he is in such poor circumstances that he
cannot marry," she sighed, so gently that one could scarcely suspect
her of any hidden meaning.

"I do not think," said Lucina, still with steadfast eyes upon her
embroidery, "that a woman should consider poverty if she loves."
Then her cheeks glowed crimson through her drooping curls, and Miss
Camilla also blushed; still she attributed her niece's tender
agitation to her avowal of general principles. She did not once
consider any danger to Lucina from Jerome; but she had seen, on the
day before, the young man's eyes linger upon the girl's lovely face,
and had immediately, with the craft of a female, however gentle, for
such matters, reached half-pleasant, half-melancholy conclusions.

It was gratifying and entirely fitting that her beautiful Lucina
should have a heart-broken lover at her feet; still, it was sad, very
sad, for the poor lover. "When the affections are enlisted, one
should not hesitate to share poverty as well as wealth," she
admitted, with a little conscious tremor of delicacy at such
pronounced views.

"I do not think Jerome himself wants to be married," said Lucina,
quickly.

Miss Camilla sighed. She remembered again the young man's fervent
eyes. "I hope he does not, my dear," she said.

"_I_ do not intend to marry either. I am never going to be married at
all," said Lucina, with a seeming irrelevance which caused Camilla to
make mild eyes of surprise and wonder sadly, after her niece had gone
home, if it were possible that the dear child had, thus early, been
crossed in love.

Lucina, ever since Jerome's confession of love, had experienced a
curious revulsion from her maiden dreams. She had such instinctive
docility of character that she was at times amenable to influences
entirely beyond her own knowledge. Not understanding in the least
Jerome's attitude of renunciation, she accepted it for herself also.
She no longer builded bridal air-castles. She still embroidered her
chair-covers, thinking that they would look very pretty in the north
parlor, and some of the old chairs could be moved to the garret to
make room for them. She gazed at her aunt Camilla with a peaceful eye
of prophecy. Just so would she herself look years hence. Her hair
would part sparsely to the wind, like hers, and show here and there
silver instead of golden lustres. There would be a soft rosetted cap
of lace to hide the thinnest places, and her cheeks, like her aun