been, or
else still to appear. An acquaintance with Boston, and the dozens of
interesting people she had met, had cleared her provincial vision,
until she was more than ever wary of believing that an interest in her
personality and her work meant anything deeper. There were a number of
men who had shown her more attention than had John Dunham, aside from
those evenings he had spent with Edna and herself. She had kept her
thought filled with healthful interest in her work, the effort to
please her teachers, and to make the most of her uncle's generosity;
and the winter had gone swiftly. She had spent Christmas with her aunt,
and Judge Trent and Mr. Dunham had dined with them on the holiday.
After dinner she had gone sleigh-riding with John, far into the frosty,
sparkling country, despite Miss Lacey's protest that she couldn't see
why they wouldn't rather stay by the fire. Miss Martha declared that
for her part she would just as soon sit with her feet in a pail of ice
water and ring a dinner-bell as to go sleighing. Upon which Judge Trent
reminded her that she had not always felt so; a concession on his part
to the past which furnished Miss Lacey with gratified sensations for
some time to come; the more that, instead of making some excuse to
leave, her old friend had taken with extraordinary grace to the role of
fireside companion, and remained talking with her of Sylvia, and mutual
acquaintances, until the young people's return.

Sylvia brought her reminiscent thought back to the present.

"How are the Fosters?" she asked.

"Well."

"And my boat?"

"Fine. Waiting for you. Minty wanted to come over with me to get you;
but I decided to be selfish." Sylvia squeezed his arm.

When they reached the height to-day, the wide view was sullen; the
waves lashing, and gnawing with white teeth at the leaden rocks under a
leaden sky. The dripping firs were dark blots on the vague islands.

Sylvia recklessly let go the old umbrella, which fell backward as she
stood up in the rain and looked off, affectionately. The damp rings of
hair blew about her forehead on the wind-swept height, and she reached
out her arms toward the grand, forbidding prospect.

"You can't frighten me, dearest, _dearest_!" she said exultantly.
"Rumble and roar as much as you like. I know what is behind the mask."

She sat down and righted the umbrella, and while the horses descended
the hill she looked and looked, feasting her eyes on every
well-remembe