to be dispatched right there, in
the bosom of the family. This was irregular and unusual, yet, somehow,
it did not seem unnatural, and he found that the presence of the women
of the poet's household was not the least restraint upon the freedom of
their discussion.

After some words of commendation of the story, "The Man of the Crowd,"
which he accepted for the next number of his magazine, he came to the
real business of the afternoon.

"Mr. Poe," said he, "I believe you know that with the new year _The
Gentleman's Magazine_ and _The Casket_ will be combined to form
_Graham's Magazine_ which it is my intention to make the best monthly,
in contributed articles and editorial opinion, in this country. Mr. Poe
I want an editor capable of making it this. _I want you._ What do you
say to undertaking it?"

As he sat with his eyes fixed upon The Dreamer's eyes waiting for an
answer he could not see the quick clasping of the widow's hands the
uplifting of her expressive face which plainly said "Thank God," or the
sudden illumination in the soft eyes of Virginia. But the transformation
in the beautiful face of the man before him held him spell-bound. Edgar
Poe's great eyes were glowing with sudden pleasure the curves of his
mouth grew sweet, his whole countenance softened.

"This is very good of you, Mr. Graham," he said, his low, musical voice,
warm with feeling. "Your offer places me upon firm ground once more. To
be frank with you, the failure, through lack of capital, of my attempt
to establish a magazine of my own (since the severing of my connection
with Burton, which gave me my only regular income) has left me hanging
by the eyelids, as it were, and I have been wondering how long I could
hold on with only the small, irregular sums coming in from the sale of
my stories to depend upon. Your offer at this time means more to me than
I can express."

His girl-wife stole to his side and with pretty grace, unembarrassed by
the presence of Mr. Graham, leaned over his chair and pressed her lips
upon his brow.

"But you know, Buddie," she murmured in a voice that was like a dove's,
"I always told you something would come along!"

* * * * *

Darkness fell and lamps were lighted, and still Mr. Graham sat on and on
as though too fascinated by the charm of the little circle to move. To
his own surprise he found himself accepting the invitation to remain to
supper. The simple table was beautiful wi