left the paternal camp, was
coming in person to plead with her mercenary lover.

And as the glory of her and the flowers and the white draperies loomed
upon Leibel's vision his heart melted in worship, and he knew his
citadel would crumble in ruins at her first glance, at her first touch.
Was it fair fighting? As his troubled vision cleared, and as she came
nigh unto him, he saw to his amazement that she was speckless and
composed--no trace of tears dimmed the fairness of her face, there was
no disarray in her bridal wreath.

The clock showed the ninth minute.

She put her hand appeallingly on his arm, while a heavenly light came
into her face--the expression of a Joan of Arc animating her country.

"Do not give in, Leibel!" she said. "Do not have me! Do not let them
persuade thee! By my life, thou must not! Go home!"

So at the eleventh minute the vanquished Eliphaz produced the balance,
and they all lived happily ever afterward.

AN IDYL OF LONDON, By Beatrice Harraden

It was one o'clock, and many of the students in the National Gallery
had left off work and were refreshing themselves with lunch and
conversation. There was one old worker who had not stirred from his
place, but he had put down his brush, and had taken from his pocket a
small book, which was like its owner--thin and shabby of covering. He
seemed to find pleasure in reading it, for he turned over its pages with
all the tenderness characteristic of one who loves what he reads. Now
and again he glanced at his unfinished copy of the beautiful portrait of
Andrea del Sarto, and once his eyes rested on another copy next to
his, better and truer than his, and once he stopped to pick up a girl's
prune-coloured tie, which had fallen from the neighbouring easel.
After this he seemed to become unconscious of his surroundings, as
unconscious, indeed, as any one of the pictures near him. Any one might
have been justified in mistaking him for the portrait of a man, but that
his lips moved; for it was his custom to read softly to himself.

The students passed back to their places, not troubling to notice him,
because they knew from experience that he never noticed them, and that
all greetings were wasted on him and all words were wanton expenditure
of breath. They had come to regard him very much in the same way as many
of us regard the wonders of nature, without astonishment, without any
questionings, and often without any interest. One girl, a new-