before. I sat in a dream of delight, without
thinking that it might be thought vulgar to _appear_ delighted, and
still more to express undisguised admiration.

I dared not look to the platform, where the faculty and students were
arranged in imposing ranks, for there was one pair of familiar,
sparkling eyes, that were sure to beat mine back with their steadfast
gaze. I did not like this persevering scrutiny, for I was sure it would
attract the attention of others, and then draw it on myself. He had
grown taller, Richard Clyde had, since I had seen him, his countenance
was more manly, his manner more polished. He had been with us the
evening before, but the room was crowded with company, and I was careful
not to give him a moment's opportunity of speaking to me alone. But I
read too well in his sincere and earnest eyes, that time had wrought no
change in the fervor of his feelings, or the constancy of his
attachment.

Mrs. Linwood, though surrounded by friends of the most distinguished
character, honored him by signal marks of attention. I was proud of him
as a friend. Why did he wish to be more?

"What a fine young man Clyde is!" I heard some one remark who sat behind
us. "It is said he is the most promising student in the university."

"Yes," was the reply. "I have heard that several wealthy gentlemen in
Boston are going to send him to Europe to complete his education, as his
own income will not allow him to incur the expense."

"That is a great compliment," observed the first voice, "and I
have no doubt he deserves it. They say, too, that he is betrothed
to a young girl in the country, very pretty, but in most indigent
circumstances,--an early attachment,--children's romance."

Was it possible that village gossip had reached these venerable walls?
But hark to the other voice.

"I have heard so, but they say she has been adopted by a rich lady,
whose name I have forgotten. Her own mother was of very mysterious and
disreputable character, I am told, whom no one visited or respected.
Quite an outcast."

I started as if an arrow had passed through my ears, or rather entered
them, for it seemed quivering there. Never before had I heard one
sullying word breathed on the spotless snow of my mother's character. Is
it strange that the cold, venomous tongue of slander, hissing at my very
back, should make me shudder and recoil as if a serpent were there?

A hand touched my shoulder, lightly, gently, but I knew its to