t for relief,
For we know all of life.

And this is why I kiss thy tear-wet eyes,
Nor think thy grief so great.
Thou untried child! at every fresh surprise
Thy heart springs to the gate.

HOWARD GLYNDON.

"FOR PERCIVAL."

CHAPTER XXXV.

OF THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER.

[Illustration]

Early in that December the landlady's daughter came home. Percival
could not fix the precise date, but he knew it was early in the month,
because about the eighth or ninth he was suddenly aware that he
had more than once encountered a smile, a long curl and a pair of
turquoise earrings on the stairs. He had noticed the earrings: he
could speak positively as to them. He had seen turquoises before, and
taken little heed of them, but possibly his friends had happened to
buy rather small ones. He felt pretty certain about the long curl. And
he thought there was a smile, but he was not so absolutely sure of the
smile.

By the twelfth he was quite sure of it. It seemed to him that it was
cold work for any one to be so continually on the stairs in December.
The owner of the smile had said, "Good-morning, Mr. Thorne."

On the thirteenth a question suggested itself to him: "Was she--could
she be--always running up and down stairs? Or did it happen that just
when he went out and came back--?" He balanced his pen in his fingers
for a minute, and sat pondering. "Oh, confound it!" he said to
himself, and went on writing.

That evening he left the office to the minute, and hurried to Bellevue
street. He got halfway up the stairs and met no one, but he heard a
voice on the landing exclaim, "Go to old Fordham's caddy, then, for
you sha'n't--Oh, good gracious!" and there was a hurried rustle. He
went more slowly the rest of the way, reflecting. Fordham was another
lodger--elderly, as the voice had said. Percival went to his
sitting-room and looked thoughtfully into his tea-caddy. It was nearly
half full, and he calculated that, according to the ordinary rate of
consumption, it should have been empty, and yet he had not been more
sparing than usual. His landlady had told him where to get his tea:
she said she found it cheap--it was a fine-flavored tea, and she
always drank it. Percival supposed so, and wondered where old Fordham
got his tea, and whether that was fine-flavored too.

There was a giggle outside the door, a knock, and in answer to
Percival's "Come in," the landlady's daughter appeared. She explaine