o fairy ships upon
the river to-night."

He smiled.

"Why not, little one? You have only to close your eyes."

Slowly she shook her head.

"Don't think that I am foolish, dear," she begged. "To-night I
cannot look upon the river at all. I feel that there is something
new here--here in this room. The great things are here, Arnold. I
can feel life hammering and throbbing in the air. We aren't in a
garret any longer, dear. It's a fairy palace. Listen. Can't you hear
the people shout, and the music, and the fountains playing? Can't
you see the dusky walls fall back, the marble pillars, the lights in
the ceiling?"

He turned his head. He found himself, indeed, listening, found
himself almost disappointed to hear nothing but the far-off, eternal
roar of the city, and the melancholy grinding of a hurdy-gurdy
below. Always she carried him away by her intense earnestness, the
bewitching softness of her voice, even when it was galleons full of
treasure that she saw, with blood-red sails, coming up the river,
full of treasure for them. To-night her voice had more than its
share of inspiration, her fancies clung to her feverishly.

"Be careful, Arnold," she murmured. "To-night means a change. There
is something new coming. I can feel it coming in my heart."

Her face was drawn and pale. He laughed down into her eyes.

"Little lady," he reminded her, mockingly, "I am going to dine with
my cheesemonger employer."

She shook her head dreamily. She refused to be dragged down.

"There's something beating in the air," she continued. "It came into
the room with you. Don't you feel it? Can't you feel that you are
going to a tragedy? Life is going to be different, Arnold, to be
different always."

He drew himself up. A flicker of passion flamed in his own deep gray
eyes.

"Different, child? Of course it's going to be different. If there
weren't something else in front, do you think one could live? Do you
think one could be content to struggle through this miserable
quagmire if one didn't believe that there was something else on the
other side of the hill?"

She sighed, and her fingers touched his.

"I forgot," she said simply. "You see, there was a time when I
hadn't you. You lifted me out of my quagmire."

"Not high enough, dear," he answered, caressingly. "Some day I'll
take you over to Berlin or Vienna, or one of those wonderful places.
We'll leave Isaac to grub along and sow red fire in Hyde Park. We'll
find the do