that they gleamed with opalescent splendor. The slender leaves
of the old willows at the foot of the lawn drooped exhaustedly, showing
all their silver linings; and the sky was one tawny blaze of color.
The sail-boats in sight rocked gently with the sluggish flow of the
current, and drifted rather than sailed on their course. Once a noisy,
throbbing steamer, instinct with life and purpose, dashed by
tumultuously, churning the still water with impatient wheels, and
rupturing the slumberous air with its discordant whistle. It jarred
upon the quiet beauty of the scene, and it was a relief when it swept
around a bend of the river, leaving only a trail of blue smoke, which
was harmonious.

One of the setters who had secreted himself in the house during the hot
hours, stepped out with overdone innocence, and stretched himself in a
shaded corner, panting and yawning dismally.

Pocahontas formed the only bit of coolness in the picture, sitting in
the shadow of the old porch, in her pretty white dress, with a cape
jessamine blossom showing purely against the bronze knot of her hair,
and another among the laces on her breast. The volume of Emerson
selected for the enlargement of her mental vision lay unheeded in her
lap, and the big fan moved lazily, as the gray eyes gazed and gazed out
over the parched lawn and the glistening river until the glare nearly
blinded them.

She was thinking of Jim, and feeling pitiful and sad over her old
friend who must break away from every home association, and far from
kindred and family, among strange faces and unfamiliar surroundings,
make for himself a new life. She was sorry for Jim--grieved for his
pain in parting, for his disappointment in regard to herself, for her
own inability to give him the love he longed for. She would have loved
him had it been in her power; she honestly regretted that the calm,
true sisterly affection she felt for him could not be converted into
something warmer. Her friends wished it; his friends wished it. It
was the natural and proper thing to have happened, and yet with her it
had not happened. With Pocahontas, marriage was a very sacred thing,
not to be contemplated lightly, or entered into at all without the
sanctification of a pure, unselfish love. If she should marry Jim now,
it would be with the knowledge that the depths of her nature were
unstirred, the true rich gold still hidden. It did not seem to her
that her old playfellow's hand was th