dogwood stars, and of some words that he had said. In these days he was
hoping against hope. Well off and well-bred, good to look at, pleasant
of speech, at times indolent, at times ardent, a little silent on the
whole, and never failing to match the occasion with just the right shade
of intelligence, a certain grip and essence in this man made itself felt
like the firm bed of a river beneath the flowing water. He was not of
Albemarle; he was of a tide-water county, but he came to Albemarle and
stayed with kindred, and no one doubted that he strove for an Albemarle
bride. It was the opinion of the county people that he would win her. It
was hard to see why he should not. He was desperately in love, and far
too determined to take the first "No" for an answer. Until the last
eight months it had been his own conclusion that he would win.

The old clock in the hall struck ten; in an interval between the dances
Judith slipped away. Stafford wished to follow her, but Cousin William
held him like the Ancient Mariner and talked of the long past on the
Eastern Shore. Judith, entering the library, came upon the Reverend Mr.
Corbin Wood, deep in a great chair and a calf-bound volume. "Come in,
come in, Judith my dear, and tell me about the dance."

"It is a pretty dance," said Judith. "Do you think it would be very
wrong of you to watch it?"

Mr. Wood, the long thin fingers of one hand lightly touching the long
thin fingers of the other hand, considered the matter. "Why, no," he
said in a mellow and genial voice. "Why, no--it is always hard for me to
think that anything beautiful is wrong. It is this way. I go into the
drawing-room and watch you. It is, as you say, a very pretty sight! But
if I find it so and still keep a long face, I am to myself something of
a hypocrite. And if I testify my delight, if I am absorbed in your
evolutions, and think only of springtime and growing things, and show my
thought, then to every one of you, and indeed to myself too, my dear, I
am something out of my character! So it seems better to sit here and
read Jeremy Taylor."

"You have the book upside down," said Judith softly. Her old friend put
on his glasses, gravely looked, and reversed the volume. He laughed, and
then he sighed. "I was thinking of the country, Judith. It's the only
book that is interesting now--and the recital's tragic, my dear; the
recital's tragic!"

From the hall came Edward Cary's voice, "Judith, Judith, we want you for