d when I asked him to translate
it, those two words meant, 'My darling.' How dare you, ungrateful
creature that you are!"

As Amy spoke, half-confusedly, half-angrily, Casimer went down upon
his knees, with folded hands and penitent face, exclaiming, in good
English,--

"Be merciful to me a sinner. I was tempted, and I could not resist."

"Get up this instant, and stop laughing. Say your lesson, for this
will be your last," was the stern reply, though Amy's face dimpled all
over with suppressed merriment.

He rose meekly, but made such sad work with the verb "To love," that
his teacher was glad to put an end to it, by proposing to read her
French to him. It was "Thaddeus of Warsaw," a musty little translation
which she had found in the house, and begun for her own amusement.
Casimer read a little, seemed interested, and suggested that they read
it together, so that he might correct her accent. Amy agreed, and
they were in the heart of the sentimental romance, finding it more
interesting than most modern readers, for the girl had an improved
Thaddeus before her, and the Pole a fairer, kinder Mary Beaufort.

Dangerous times for both, but therein lay the charm; for, though Amy
said to herself each night, "Sick, Catholic, and a foreigner,--it can
never be," yet each morning she felt, with increasing force, how blank
her day would be without him. And Casimer, honorably restraining every
word of love, yet looked volumes, and in spite of the glasses, the
girl felt the eloquence of the fine eyes they could not entirely
conceal.

To-day, as she read, he listened with his head leaning on his hand,
and though she never had read worse, he made no correction, but sat so
motionless, she fancied at last that he had actually fallen asleep.
Thinking to rouse him, she said, in French,--

"Poor Thaddeus! don't you pity him?--alone, poor, sick, and afraid to
own his love."

"No, I hate him, the absurd imbecile, with his fine boots and plumes,
and tragedy airs. He was not to be pitied, for he recovered health, he
found a fortune, he won his Marie. His sufferings were nothing; there
was no fatal blight on him, and he had time and power to conquer his
misfortunes, while I--"

Casimer spoke with sudden passion, and pausing abruptly, turned his
face away, as if to hide some emotion he was too proud to show.

Amy's heart ached, and her eyes filled, but her voice was sweet and
steady, as she said, putting by the book, like one weary