h a little sometimes in a way
that told of the interest at work. The interest was not merely what
would have belonged to the letter for any reader,--it was not merely
the interest that attached to the writer of it, nor to the person for
whom it was written; it was not only the interest deep and great which
Faith felt in the subjects and objects spoken of in the letter. All
these wrought with their full power; but all these were not enough to
account for the intent and intense feeling with which Faith bent over
that letter, with eyes that never wavered, and a cheek in which the
blood mounted to a bright flush. And when it was done, even then she
sat still leaning over the paper, looking not at it but through it.

A little shower of fringed gentian and white Ladies' tresses came
patting down upon the letter, hiding its delicate black marks with
their own dainty faces.

"These are your means of transport back to Pattaquasset," said Mr.
Linden. Faith looked up, and rose up.

"I had come back," she said, drawing one of those half long breaths as
she folded up and gave him the letter. "I can't thank you, Mr. Linden."

"I thought you were not reading, or I should not have ventured such an
interruption. But I am in no hurry for the letter, Miss Faith. How do
you like Italy?"

"I like it--" said Faith doubtfully,--"I don't know it. Mr. Linden,"
she went on with some difficulty and flushing yet more,--"some time,
will you tell me in what books I can find out about those
things?--those things the letter speaks of."

"Those which concern Italy, do you mean! I can arrange an Italy shelf
for you up stairs--but I am afraid I have not very much here to put on
it."

"No indeed!" said Faith looking half startled,--"I didn't mean to give
you trouble--only some time, if you would tell me what books--perhaps--"

"Perhaps what?" he said smiling,--"perhaps I wouldn't?"

"No," she said, "I mean, perhaps you _would;_ and perhaps I could get
them and read them. I feel I don't know anything."

That Faith felt it was very plain. She had that rare beauty--a soft
eye. I do not mean the grace of insipidity, nor the quality of mere
form and colour; but the full lustrous softness that speaks a character
strong in the foundations of peace and sweetness. Many an eye can be
soft by turns and upon occasion; it is rarely that you see one where
sweetness and strength have met together to make that the abiding
characteristic. The gentleness of suc