se;
he gave himself wholly up to a delirious expectation. How would his
immortal mistress look? How would she move? What would be her
stature--what her bearing? How would she gaze upon him? If not with love
he should die at her feet. If with love how should he bear it?

Mrs. Rhinehart's letter had been received in the morning, and during the
rest of the day Miss Ludington and Paul seemed quite to forget each other
in their absorption in the thoughts suggested by the approaching event.
They sat abstracted and silent at table, and, on rising, went each their
own way. In the exalted state of their imaginations the enterprise they
had in hand would not bear talking over.

When she retired to bed Miss Ludington found that sleep was out of the
question. About two o'clock in the morning she heard Paul leave his room
and go downstairs. Putting on dressing-gown and slippers she softly
followed him. There was a light in the sitting-room and the door was
ajar. Stepping noiselessly to it she looked in.

Paul was standing before, the fireplace, leaning on the mantelpiece, and
looking up into the eyes of the girl above, smiling and talking softly to
her, Miss Ludington entered the room and laid her hand gently on his arm.
Her appearance did not seem to startle him in the least. "Paul, my dear
boy!" she said, "you had better go to bed."

"It's no use," he said; "I can't sleep, and I had to come down here and
look at her. Think, just think, aunty, that to-morrow we shall see her."

The young fellow's nervous excitement culminated in a burst of ecstatic
tears, and soon afterwards Miss Ludington induced him to go to bed.

How much more he loved the girl than even she did! She was filled with
dread as she thought of the effect which a disappointment of the hope he
had given himself up to might produce. And what folly, after all, it was
to expect anything but disappointment!

The spectacle of Paul's fatuous confidence had taken hers away.

CHAPTER VI

As the drive over to East Tenth Street was a long one, the carriage had
been ordered at seven o'clock, and soon after tea, of which neither Miss
Ludington nor Paul had been able to take a mouthful, they set out.

"I am afraid we are doing something very wrong and foolish," said Miss
Ludington, feebly, as the carriage rolled down the village street.

During the drive of nearly two hours not another word was said.

The carriage at length drew up before the house in Tenth S