h finds a secret joy in the
exercise of its own fortitude.

To-day, however, Miss Wing sat before the picture which so many young
eyes had studied with such vague, yet ardent, sympathy, and pondered
over a confidence that had not come. The lack of its coming hurt her;
and the tap on her door was welcome, for she thought, "It is she--coming
to tell me. Oh, I hope he is the right man."

At her response, the door swung open with a jerk, and the dark-eyed girl
who entered was catching her breath, although she tried to make the
quick intakes noiseless. There was a look of pale resolution on her
features.

"Have you come to let me congratulate you, my dear?" said the principal,
rising. The girl colored scarlet. "I've come because I had to, because I
couldn't deceive you," she blurted. "Miss Wing, it isn't so. I let Miss
Parker think so; but I'm not engaged to him."

"Sit down, dear," said Miss Wing. The soft cadence of her voice did not
roughen. She sat down when her guest sat, and leaned back in her desk
chair, folding her slim, white hands. There were flashing rings on her
hands; and the girls used to wonder which ring "Max" had given her. They
favored the sapphire, set between two diamonds, because of its beauty
("a real Cashmere, you know"), and because, whether she wore other rings
or not, this always kept its place.

"Now, tell me," said Miss Wing.

"I had a letter from him this morning; it was just a note in one of
Helen Grier's"--the girl's lithe form was erect in the chair, every
muscle tense; she looked past Miss Wing to the wall and spoke in
toneless voice; no one could see that she was driving straight on to her
purpose, over her own writhing nerves--"all he said was that he had been
called back to Germany--"

"Is he a German? Miss Parker said his name was Cutler."

"It is Butler," the girl said, flinging her head back, while a spark
crept into her liquid, troubled, dark eyes, "but he _is_ a German. Don't
you know the Butlers in 'Wallenstein?' You know he was a real man; and
he founded a family. He--my--my friend is the Count von Butler." Miss
Wing's chair, like other desk chairs, was set on a pivot; she turned
very slightly and slowly, at the same time resting her elbow on the
desk. The girl ventured a timid glance at her, and thought that she
looked sterner, wherefore her heart sank; but she only continued the
faster: "He isn't in America just to travel; he was sent by his
government to watch the Cuban