MR. POWER received Christie so hospitably that she felt at home atonce, and took up her new duties with the energy of one anxious torepay a favor. Her friend knew well the saving power of work, andgave her plenty of it; but it was a sort that at once interested andabsorbed her, so that she had little time for dangerous thoughts orvain regrets. As he once said, Mr. Power made her own troubles seemlight by showing her others so terribly real and great that she wasashamed to repine at her own lot.

 

　　Her gift of sympathy served her well, past experience gave her aquick eye to read the truth in others, and the earnest desire tohelp and comfort made her an excellent almoner for the rich, awelcome friend to the poor. She was in just the right mood to giveherself gladly to any sort of sacrifice, and labored with a quietenergy, painful to witness had any one known the hidden sufferingthat would not let her rest.

 

　　If she had been a regular novel heroine at this crisis, she wouldhave grown gray in a single night, had a dangerous illness, gonemad, or at least taken to pervading the house at unseasonable hourswith her back hair down and much wringing of the hands. Being only acommonplace woman she did nothing so romantic, but instinctivelytried to sustain and comfort herself with the humble, wholesomeduties and affections which seldom fail to keep heads sane andhearts safe. Yet, though her days seemed to pass so busily andcheerfully, it must be confessed that there were lonely vigils inthe night; and sometimes in the morning Christie's eyes were veryheavy, Christie's pillow wet with tears.

 

　　But life never is all work or sorrow; and happy hours, helpfulpleasures, are mercifully given like wayside springs to pilgrimstrudging wearily along. Mr. Power showed Christie many such, andsilently provided her with better consolation than pity or advice.

 

　　"Deeds not words," was his motto; and he lived it out mostfaithfully. "Books and work" he gave his new charge; and thenfollowed up that prescription with "healthful play" of a sort sheliked, and had longed for all her life. Sitting at his tableChristie saw the best and bravest men and women of our times; forMr. Power was a magnet that drew them from all parts of the world.

 

　　She saw and heard, admired and loved them; felt her soul kindle withthe desire to follow in their steps, share their great tasks, knowtheir difficulties and dangers, and in the end taste the immortalsatisfactions given to those who live and labor for theirfellow-men. In such society all other aims seemed poor and petty;for they appeared to live in a nobler world than any she had known,and she felt as if they belonged to another race; not men norangels, but a delightful mixture of the two; more as she imaginedthe gods and heroes of old; not perfect, but wonderfully strong andbrave and good; each gifted with a separate virtue, and each bent ona mission that should benefit mankind.

 

　　Nor was this the only pleasure given her. One evening of each weekwas set apart by Mr. Power for the reception of whomsoever chose tovisit him; for his parish was a large one, and his house a safehaunt for refugees from all countries, all oppressions.

 

　　Christie enjoyed these evenings heartily, for there was no ceremony;each comer brought his mission, idea, or need, and genuinehospitality made the visit profitable or memorable to all, forentire freedom prevailed, and there was stabling for every one'shobby.

 

　　Christie felt that she was now receiving the best culture, acquiringthe polish that society gives, and makes truly admirable whencharacter adds warmth and power to its charm. The presence of herbosom-care calmed the old unrest, softened her manners, and at timestouched her face with an expression more beautiful than beauty. Shewas quite unconscious of the changes passing over her; and if anyone had told her she was fast becoming a most attractive woman, shewould have been utterly incredulous. But others saw and felt the newcharm; for no deep experience bravely borne can fail to leave itsmark, often giving power in return for patience, and lending asubtle loveliness to faces whose bloom it has destroyed.

 

　　This fact was made apparent to Christie one evening when she wentdown to the weekly gathering in one of the melancholy moods whichsometimes oppressed her. She felt dissatisfied with herself becauseher interest in all things began to flag, and a restless longing forsome new excitement to break up the monotonous pain of her innerlife possessed her. Being still a little shy in company, she slippedquietly into a recess which commanded a view of both rooms, and satlooking listlessly about her while waiting for David, who seldomfailed to come.

 

　　A curious collection of fellow-beings was before herj and at anothertime she would have found much to interest and amuse her. In onecorner a newly imported German with an Orson-like head, thumb-ring,and the fragrance of many meerschaums still hovering about him, washammering away upon some disputed point with a scientific Frenchman,whose national politeness was only equalled by his nationalvolubility. A prominent statesman was talking with a fugitive slave;a young poet getting inspiration from the face and voice of ahandsome girl who had earned the right to put M. D. to her name. Anold philosopher was calming the ardor of several rampant radicals,and a famous singer was comforting the heart of an Italian exile bytalking politics in his own melodious tongue.

 

　　There were plenty of reformers: some as truculent as Martin Luther;others as beaming and benevolent as if the pelting of the world hadonly mellowed them, and no amount of denunciatory thunder could sourthe milk of human kindness creaming in their happy hearts. Therewere eager women just beginning their protest against the wrongsthat had wrecked their peace; subdued women who had been worsted inthe unequal conflict and given it up; resolute women with "Nosurrender" written all over their strong-minded countenances; andsweet, hopeful women, whose faith in God and man nothing could shakeor sadden.

 

　　But to Christie there was only one face worth looking at till Davidcame, and that was Mr. Power's; for he was a perfect host, andpervaded the rooms like a genial atmosphere, using the welcome ofeye and hand which needs no language to interpret it, giving to eachguest the intellectual fare he loved, and making their enjoyment hisown.

 

　　"Bless the dear man! what should we all do without him?" thoughtChristie, following him with grateful eyes, as he led an awkwardyouth in rusty black to the statesman whom it had been the desire ofhis ambitious soul to meet.

 

　　The next minute she proved that she at least could do without the"dear man;" for David entered the room, and she forgot all abouthim. Here and at church were the only places where the friends hadmet during these months, except one or two short visits to thelittle house in the lane when Christie devoted herself to Mrs.

 

　　Sterling.

 

　　David was quite unchanged, though once or twice Christie fancied heseemed ill at ease with her, and immediately tormented herself withthe idea that some alteration in her own manner had perplexed oroffended him. She did her best to be as frank and cordial as in thehappy old days; but it was impossible, and she soon gave it up,assuming in the place of that former friendliness, a grave and quietmanner which would have led a wiser man than David to believe herbusied with her own affairs and rather indifferent to every thingelse.

 

　　If he had known how her heart danced in her bosom, her eyesbrightened, and all the world became endurable, the moment heappeared, he would not have been so long in joining her, nor havedoubted what welcome awaited him.

 

　　As it was, he stopped to speak to his host; and, before hereappeared, Christie had found the excitement she had been longingfor.

 

　　"Now some bore will keep him an hour, and the evening is so short,"she thought, with a pang of disappointment; and, turning her eyesaway from the crowd which had swallowed up her heart's desire, theyfell upon a gentleman just entering, and remained fixed with anexpression of unutterable surprise; for there, elegant, calm, andcool as ever, stood Mr. Fletcher.

 

　　"How came he here?" was her first question; "How will he behave tome?" her second. As she could answer neither, she composed herselfas fast as possible, resolving to let matters take their own course,and feeling in the mood for an encounter with a discarded lover, asshe took a womanish satisfaction in remembering that the verypersonable gentleman before her had once been.

 

　　Mr. Fletcher and his companion passed on to find their host; and,with a glance at the mirror opposite, which showed her that thesurprise of the moment had given her the color she lacked before,Christie occupied herself with a portfolio of engravings, feelingvery much as she used to feel when waiting at a side scene for hercue.

 

　　She had not long to wait before Mr. Power came up, and presented thestranger; for such he fancied him, never having heard a certainepisode in Christie's life. Mr. Fletcher bowed, with no sign ofrecognition in his face, and began to talk in the smooth, low voiceshe remembered so well. For the moment, through sheer surprise,Christie listened and replied as any young lady might have done to anew-made acquaintance. But very soon she felt sure that Mr. Fletcherintended to ignore the past; and, finding her on a higher round ofthe social ladder, to accept the fact and begin again.

 

　　At first she was angry, then amused, then interested in the somewhatdramatic turn affairs were taking, and very wisely decided to meethim on his own ground, and see what came of it.

 

　　In the midst of an apparently absorbing discussion of one ofRaphael's most insipid Madonnas, she was conscious that David hadapproached, paused, and was scrutinizing her companion with unusualinterest. Seized with a sudden desire to see the two men together,Christie beckoned; and when he obeyed, she introduced him, drew himinto the conversation, and then left him in the lurch by fallingsilent and taking notes while they talked.

 

　　If she wished to wean her heart from David by seeing him at adisadvantage, she could have devised no better way; for, though avery feminine test, it answered the purpose excellently.

 

　　Mr. Fletcher was a handsome man, and just then looked his best.

 

　　Improved health gave energy and color to his formerly sallow,listless face: the cold eyes were softer, the hard mouth suave andsmiling, and about the whole man there was that indescribablesomething which often proves more attractive than worth or wisdom tokeener-sighted women than Christie. Never had he talked better; for,as if he suspected what was in the mind of one hearer, he exertedhimself to be as brilliant as possible, and succeeded admirably.

 

　　David never appeared so ill, for he had no clew to the little comedybeing played before him; and long seclusion and natural reserveunfitted him to shine beside a man of the world like Mr. Fletcher.

 

　　His simple English sounded harsh, after the foreign phrases thatslipped so easily over the other's tongue. He had visited nogalleries, seen few of the world's wonders, and could only listenwhen they were discussed. More than once he was right, but failed toprove it, for Mr. Fletcher skilfully changed the subject or quenchedhim with a politely incredulous shrug.

 

　　Even in the matter of costume, poor David was worsted; for, in awoman's eyes, dress has wonderful significance. Christie used tothink his suit of sober gray the most becoming man could wear; butnow it looked shapeless and shabby, beside garments which bore thestamp of Paris in the gloss and grace of broadcloth and fine linen.

 

　　David wore no gloves: Mr. Fletcher's were immaculate. David's tiewas so plain no one observed it: Mr. Fletcher's, elegant andfaultless enough for a modern Beau Brummel. David's handkerchief wasof the commonest sort (she knew that, for she hemmed it herself):

 

　　Mr. Fletcher's was the finest cambric, and a delicate breath ofperfume refreshed the aristocratic nose to which the articlebelonged.

 

　　Christie despised herself as she made these comparisons, and felthow superficial they were; but, having resolved to exalt one man atthe expense of the other for her own good, she did not relent tillDavid took advantage of a pause, and left them with a reproachfullook that made her wish Mr. Fletcher at the bottom of the sea.

 

　　When they were alone a subtle change in his face and mannerconvinced her that he also had been taking notes, and had arrived ata favorable decision regarding herself. Women are quick at makingsuch discoveries; and, even while she talked with him as a stranger,she felt assured that, if she chose, she might make him again herlover.

 

　　Here was a temptation! She had longed for some new excitement, andfate seemed to have put one of the most dangerous within her reach.

 

　　It was natural to find comfort in the knowledge that somebody lovedher, and to take pride in her power over one man, because anotherdid not own it. In spite of her better self she felt the fascinationof the hour, and yielded to it, half unconsciously assumingsomething of the "dash and daring" which Mr. Fletcher had onceconfessed to finding so captivating in the demure governess. Heevidently thought so still, and played his part with spirit; for,while apparently enjoying a conversation which contained no allusionto the past, the memory of it gave piquancy to that longtete-a-tete.

 

　　As the first guests began to go, Mr. Fletcher's friend beckoned tohim; and he rose, saying with an accent of regret which changed toone of entreaty, as he put his question:

 

　　"I, too, must go. May I come again, Miss Devon?""I am scarcely more than a guest myself; but Mr. Power is alwaysglad to see whoever cares to come," replied Christie rather primly,though her eyes were dancing with amusement at the recollection ofthose love passages upon the beach.

 

　　"Next time, I shall come not as a stranger, but as a former--may Isay friend?" he added quickly, as if emboldened by the mirthful eyesthat so belied the demure lips.

 

　　"Now you forget your part," and Christie's primness vanished in alaugh. "I am glad of it, for I want to ask about Mrs. Saltonstalland the children. I've often thought of the little dears, and longedto see them.""They are in Paris with their father.""Mrs. Saltonstall is well, I hope?""She died six months ago."An expression of genuine sorrow came over Mr. Fletcher's face as hespoke; and, remembering that the silly little woman was his sister,Christie put out her hand with a look and gesture so full ofsympathy that words were unnecessary. Taking advantage of thispropitious moment, he said, with an expressive glance and effectivetone: "I am all alone now. You will let me come again?""Certainly, if it can give you pleasure," she answered heartily,forgetting herself in pity for his sorrow.

 

　　Mr. Fletcher pressed her hand with a grateful, "Thank you!" andwisely went away at once, leaving compassion to plead for him betterthan he could have done it for himself.

 

　　Leaning back in her chair, Christie was thinking over this interviewso intently that she started when David's voice said close besideher:

 

　　"Shall I disturb you if I say, 'Good-night'?""I thought you were not going to say it at all," she answered rathersharply.

 

　　"I've been looking for a chance; but you were so absorbed with thatman I had to wait.""Considering the elegance of 'that man,' you don't treat him withmuch respect.""I don't feel much. What brought him here, I wonder. A French salonis more in his line.""He came to see Mr. Power, as every one else does, of course.""Don't dodge, Christie: you know he came to see you.""How do you like him?" she asked, with treacherous abruptness.

 

　　"Not particularly, so far. But if I knew him, I dare say I shouldfind many good traits in him.""I know you would!" said Christie, warmly, not thinking of Fletcher,but of David's kindly way of finding good in every one.

 

　　"He must have improved since you saw him last; for then, if Iremember rightly, you found him 'lazy, cross, selfish," andconceited.'""Now, David, I never said any thing of the sort," began Christie,wondering what possessed him to be so satirical and short with her.

 

　　"Yes, you did, last September, sitting on the old apple-tree themorning of your birthday.""What an inconvenient memory you have! Well, he was all that then;but he is not an invalid now, and so we see his real self.""I also remember that you gave me the impression that he was anelderly man.""Isn't forty elderly?""He wasn't forty when you taught his sister's children.""No; but he looked older than he does now, being so ill. I used tothink he would be very handsome with good health; and now I see Iwas right," said Christie, with feigned enthusiasm; for it was a newthing to tease David, and she liked it.

 

　　But she got no more of it; for, just then, the singer began to singto the select few who remained, and every one was silent. Leaning onthe high back of Christie's chair, David watched the reflection ofher face in the long mirror; for she listened to the music withdowncast eyes, unconscious what eloquent expressions were passingover her countenance. She seemed a new Christie to David, in thatexcited mood; and, as he watched her, he thought:

 

　　"She loved this man once, or he loved her; and tonight it all comesback to her. How will it end?"So earnestly did he try to read that altered face that Christie feltthe intentness of his gaze, looked up suddenly, and met his eyes inthe glass. Something in the expression of those usually serene eyes,now darkened and dilated with the intensity of that long scrutiny,surprised and troubled her; and, scarcely knowing what she said, sheasked quickly:

 

　　"Who are you admiring?""Not myself.""I wonder if you'd think me vain if I asked you something that Iwant to know?" she said, obeying a sudden impulse.

 

　　"Ask it, and I'll tell you.""Am I much changed since you first knew me?""Very much.""For the better or the worse?""The better, decidedly.""Thank you, I hoped so; but one never knows how one seems to otherpeople. I was wondering what you saw in the glass.""A good and lovely woman, Christie."How sweet it sounded to hear David say that! so simply and sincerelythat it was far more than a mere compliment. She did not thank him,but said softly as if to herself:

 

　　"So let me seem until I be"--and then sat silent, so full of satisfaction in the thought thatDavid found her "good and lovely," she could not resist stealing aglance at the tell-tale mirror to see if she might believe him.

 

　　She forgot herself, however; for he was off guard now, and stoodlooking away with brows knit, lips tightly set, and eyes fixed, yetfull of fire; his whole attitude and expression that of a man intenton subduing some strong impulse by a yet stronger will.

 

　　It startled Christie; and she leaned forward, watching him withbreathless interest till the song ceased, and, with the oldimpatient gesture, David seemed to relapse into his accustomedquietude.

 

　　"It was the wonderful music that excited him: that was all;" thoughtChristie; yet,............