by any doubt of his integrity to whatever law
he acknowledged, but by a sense that his law differed from her own. He
made her uneasy, and seemed to unsettle everything around her, by his
lack of reverence for what was fixed, unless, at a moment's warning, it
could establish its right to hold its ground.

Then, moreover, she scarcely thought him affectionate in his nature.
He was too calm and cool an observer. Phoebe felt his eye, often; his
heart, seldom or never. He took a certain kind of interest in Hepzibah
and her brother, and Phoebe herself. He studied them attentively, and
allowed no slightest circumstance of their individualities to escape
him. He was ready to do them whatever good he might; but, after all,
he never exactly made common cause with them, nor gave any reliable
evidence that he loved them better in proportion as he knew them more.
In his relations with them, he seemed to be in quest of mental food,
not heart-sustenance. Phoebe could not conceive what interested him so
much in her friends and herself, intellectually, since he cared nothing
for them, or, comparatively, so little, as objects of human affection.

Always, in his interviews with Phoebe, the artist made especial inquiry
as to the welfare of Clifford, whom, except at the Sunday festival, he
seldom saw.

"Does he still seem happy?" he asked one day.

"As happy as a child," answered Phoebe; "but--like a child, too--very
easily disturbed."

"How disturbed?" inquired Holgrave. "By things without, or by thoughts
within?"

"I cannot see his thoughts! How should I?" replied Phoebe with simple
piquancy. "Very often his humor changes without any reason that can be
guessed at, just as a cloud comes over the sun. Latterly, since I have
begun to know him better, I feel it to be not quite right to look
closely into his moods. He has had such a great sorrow, that his heart
is made all solemn and sacred by it. When he is cheerful,--when the
sun shines into his mind,--then I venture to peep in, just as far as
the light reaches, but no further. It is holy ground where the shadow
falls!"

"How prettily you express this sentiment!" said the artist. "I can
understand the feeling, without possessing it. Had I your
opportunities, no scruples would prevent me from fathoming Clifford to
the full depth of my plummet-line!"

"How strange that you should wish it!" remarked Phoebe involuntarily.
"What is Cousin Clifford to you?"

"Oh, nothing,