y, just at the instant when
Murray Bradshaw was about to make a declaration, saved her from being
in another moment the promised bride of that young gentleman, or not, we
will not be so rash as to say. It looked, certainly, as if he was in a
fair way to carry his point; but perhaps she would have hesitated, or
shrunk back, when the great question came to stare her in the face.

She was excited, at any rate, by the conversation, so that, when Clement
was presented to her, her thoughts could not at once be all called away
from her other admirer, and she was saved from all danger of that sudden
disturbance which had followed their second meeting. Whatever impression
he made upon her developed itself gradually,--still, she felt strangely
drawn towards him. It was not simply in his good looks, in his good
manners, in his conversation, that she found this attraction, but there
was a singular fascination which she felt might be dangerous to her
peace, without explaining it to herself in words. She could hardly be in
love with this young artist; she knew that his affections were plighted
to another, a fact which keeps most young women from indulging unruly
fancies; yet her mind was possessed by his image to such an extent that
it left little room for that of Mr. William Murray Bradshaw.

Myrtle Hazard had been just ready to enter on a career of worldly vanity
and ambition. It is hard to blame her, for we know how she came by the
tendency. She had every quality, too, which fitted her to shine in the
gay world; and the general law is, that those who have the power have
the instinct to use it. We do not suppose that the bracelet on her arm
was an amulet, but it was a symbol. It reminded her of her descent; it
kept alive the desire to live over the joys and excitements of a bygone
generation. If she had accepted Murray Bradshaw, she would have pledged
herself to a worldly life. If she had refused him, it would perhaps have
given her a taste of power that might have turned her into a coquette.

This new impression saved her for the time. She had come back to her
nest in the village like a frightened bird; her heart was throbbing, her
nerves were thrilling, her dreams were agitated; she wanted to be quiet,
and could not listen to the flatteries or entreaties of her old lover.

It was a strong will and a subtle intellect that had arrayed their force
and skill against the ill-defended citadel of Myrtle's heart. Murray
Bradshaw was pe