reater diligence. I never saw anyone so anxious to do
a thing perfectly. The great Bertini in Florence said of her--'She will
certainly be greater than Angelica Kauffman.' ... 'Alexandra,' he said,
'will rank with men.' The egotism of the creature! You see there are
others who admire her besides yourself."

"None more passionately."

"I thought so.--But look this way, Tityrus," said she, wheeling quickly
and stepping forward. "How do you do, Alexandra!"

There she stood, pale and ill, but proud of carriage as ever.

"So you came after all? Here is Mr. Haviland, gladder even than I to see
you!"

I saw Grace, in a moment, the duties of hostess being temporarily
undertaken by Annie, walking down a path with soldierly Lockhart
Mackenzie, who had come over from the "quarters" in his uniform.

Alexandra and I found ourselves wandering into the wood and climbing the
hillside at the loftiest point of the Island, where, on the summit, the
trees permitted us a wide view of the St. Lawrence, its islands and
ships and the open country; while the afternoon sunlight fell brokenly
upon the faint colors of her face and her golden hair.

"Do you admire distant landscapes?" I asked constrainedly.

"They remind me of high aims and the broad views of great minds,"
returned she, looking outward.

"You favor aiming high," I said, "I always thought so of you."

She turned her glance for a moment to me, and asked seriously: "How can
people aim low? Do you know the lines of Goethe:"

"Thou must either strive and rise,
Or thou must sink and die."

Daughter of the immortals!

"I wonder what you will say of _my_ aims," I stammered.

"May you tell them? I should like very much to hear." And as she seemed
to bend from a queen into a womanly companion, I noticed my gift, the
brooch of Roman mosaic, on her breast.

While she listened, for I told her fully the story of my quest for the
highest things, its strange solution, and my present purposes, I was
surprised to discover that her intelligence was master of the whole
without effort. "O, I have often talked philosophy with Mr. Quinet," she
explained. Her spiritual eyes glistened with profound beautiful depths
as she looked down into the forest-shades before us. A color had
suffused itself over her face so lovely that the glorified creature
beside me seemed to surpass my intensest ideal.

"It _is_ the Voice of the Universe," she said, and her cheeks flushed,
"I once heard the