h me to the underground regions, where he can
get such slight shocks to his literary system as will enable him to take
up the vein he must work."

During this time Roseleaf did not forget the invitation he had received
to dine with the Ferns. It did him good to see Daisy, although he could
not now get her for a moment to himself. He sighed to her over the
table, and across the parlor, after the party had retired to that part
of the house, and she answered him with little bright smiles that acted
like an emollient on his hurt spirit. He had never found the courage to
beard her father in his den--of wool--and was not even sure that the
affair had reached a stage where anything could be gained by taking such
a step. What he wanted was a word of assurance from Daisy that she would
wait for him till he had made a Name in literature, or proved his
ability in some definite manner. There was no indication that any one
else was in the way; everything pointed to a contrary probability. But
there is nothing so desolate as the heart of a lover whose fair one is
just beyond his reach.

Mr. Weil accompanied Shirley on most of these visits, and knew very well
what was going on. None of the glances exchanged between the young
people were so much their exclusive property as they believed. Had
Archie possessed eyes in the back and sides of his head, he could have
seen little more than he did. While appearing to devote his entire
attention to Mr. Fern and Millicent--principally the former, he found
time to watch Roseleaf and Daisy, and even the negro Hannibal.

He noticed that the servant was no less devoted than formerly to the
youngest member of the household. He saw him hover around her at the
table like a protecting spirit, letting her want for nothing that
thoughtfulness could procure. And he noticed that Daisy seemed as
oblivious of this as she had always been. She accepted these
extraordinary attentions quite as if Hannibal were some automaton,
acting with a set of concealed springs--a mechanism in which there was
nothing of human life or intelligence.

Mr. Fern was the same gentlemanly host as of yore, with the same dark
cloud hanging over him, whatever might be its cause. Courteous by nature
to an exceptional degree he could not assume a gayety he did not feel.
There was some terrible weight bearing him down, some awful incubus of
which he was unable to rid himself. The only person who did not notice
it was Millicent, and the