with the flying flakes, and as far as the eye could reach, the white surface was unbroken.

Cortis gazed with much effort, then he sat down and closed his eyes. He had chosen to enjoy the effect of snow in the country-he might not complain of the pain caused by its purity. How pleasant it would be to wrap up, protect his eyes with smoked glasses, and wander off in this white desert! No doubt, Mrs. Carey would like to be his companion.

He had never been in such a home. Its machinery ran noiselessly and apparently without an engineer. Occasionally he had glimpses of a quiet, neatly dressed woman arranging the table in the dining-room; and from the perfectly cooked food to the pyramid of blazing logs in front of him, every detail of domestic comfort was evidently the object of skill controlled by affection. Through half-drawn hangings, he had a view of his host, seated, booksurrounded, in a cosey study. The main hall separated the study from the sittingroom, but the library opened directly from the sitting-room, and thus afforded a safe refuge for Cortis in case of necessity. He was listening for Mrs. Carey's returning steps, when light ones echoed on the porch, the wooden knocker was struck thrice, the street door was opened from without, and a girl's clear, musical voice rang through the hallway: "Good morning, Mr. Carey. Am I not brave? Now, don't move. I finished that prosy old book, and now you must lend me something modern and bright." Cortis rose suddenly, commenced a retreat, halted, then returned to his seat and stood hesitating. The voice and its owner were now in the study. Cortis closed the sitting-room door, sat down and put his hand over his closed eyes; his limbs were trembling. "Good God! How nervous-how foolish I am!" he muttered.

When Mrs. Carey returned, Cortis had shielded his eyes with smoked glasses and was sitting near the window that opened on the front porch, apparently interested with the view of the lawn, gate, and road beyond. "Is there any particular chapter that you would prefer hearing?" Mrs. Carey

asked, as she adjusted her spectacles and opened the volume.

Cortis looked at her for some seconds, then his eyes blinked behind his glasses : "I think I like the beginning of the book."

For some minutes Mrs. Carey read in comfort. Her voice was sweet and clear, her method simple. The logs crackled and the clock ticked an agreeable accompaniment. She could not determine whether her listener was deeply interested or wholly abstracted. His eyes remained closed, his lips were shut firmly, his hands lay nerveless on his knees. The murmur of voices in the hallway and the opening of the street door were unheeded by Mrs. Carey; yet, as she read, she was aware that Cortis had changed his position and was noting what was taking place. It was nothing very exciting. A tall woman, slight of figure and clothed in a dark cloth newmarket, was carefully retracing her own. footprints in the deep snow on the lawn. The hood of the garment was drawn over her head, she carried an open umbrella and held it close to her shoulders; but, in opening the gate, she tilted her cotton shield, and Cortis had a full view of her face. He bent forward and watched her retreating form, then his head sank, his hands met in a nervous clasp, he became absorbed. Mrs. Carey continued. After a while. Cortis resumed his attitude of attention, the clock ticked rhythmically with the sounds from the fire-place, and a very amusing passage caused Mrs. Carey to glance at her auditor for a responsive smile of appreciation. Cortis raised his eyes and shook his head.

"Mrs. Carey, I am only imposing on your kindness. I haven't heard one sentence. The truth is, that I cannot get away from my own misery."

"I can't think of anything really suitable," Mrs. Carey said gently. "I am too old. I have forgotten how to entertain. Now, if you would only meet gay, light-hearted people. That young lady who was here just now

"Is she gay-light-hearted?" "Oh, charmingly so-as merry as a bird. If you would make her acquain

tance"

Oh no, no! Impossible! I am

no companion for happy people. I can scarcely endure existence!"

Cortis rose and unconsciously put away

slowly met his perplexed, troubled glance. "Would

don't know how to live through the long hours. This helplessness is driving me crazy!"

"But Lowell says that your eyes will gain in strength if only you will refrain from using them; and with the prospect of recovery, I should think you would exert yourself to be patient. Suppose you had to contemplate total blindness."

"You are quite right, Mrs. Carey. I am cross and ungrateful. Idohug the hope that your son has

held out to me. It keeps me alive! You are very good to put up with my ill-humor. I must be a very disagreeable guest."

"I try to imagine the burden that

"Yes-will you come with me?'
"With pleasure."

Once in the air, holding the umbrella low to protect Mrs. Carey's face from the flakes, Cortis felt his spirits rising; and as they pressed the snow beneath

their arctics, she chatted interestingly of the town and its people.

CHAPTER II.

THE next morning when Cortis awoke from

a long, perfect sleep, he could tell, without opening his eyes, that the room

was warm

and bright with sunshine. Anticipating a dark, stormy day, he had not shut the window blinds nor lowered the shades; and, wondering and rejoic

ing, he hurriedly excluded the dazzling light, and lost no time in getting into the open air. The sky was one limitless turquoise; the atmosphere was invigorating; ceaseless murmurs of water announced a great thaw. Cortis found an easy-chair on the east porch, and sat down to inhale the pure breath of the morning. How exquisite it was! how fresh and clear, yet freighted with stores of vitalizing forces!

66

"Is it worth a journey?" said Cortis with a smile that gave an entirely new expression to his features. "I was just trying to recollect if I had ever before been in the country during February. These sudden changes in the temperature produce very pleasant effects."

"And every day they will become more charming and fascinating. You will find yourself seeking the open air without exactly knowing why. Nature draws one with secret, irresistible cords. You will lose interest in written books, and study the poem which cannot be put into words."

country freshness; the coffee held its subtle aroma.

Cortis returned to his sunny porch, almost forgetful of his green shades, and the rector and his wife, arm-inarm, set out for the small church where Mr. Carey faced the Sunday simper of his flock, and tried to warn and arm it against the cherished vices that prevented its Christian growth and influence. For some minutes Cortis watched the passing figures, some solitary, others in small groups or in family parties. Light laughter and pleasant words were carried on the breeze; the serenity of Nature seemed to be reflected in the faces of the people, together with a conscious delight in their fine clothes. and the opportunity to leisurely exhibit them. The effort to gaze at the moving forms became painful. Cortis resolutely dropped his eyes and thought of distant places, persons and matters concerning himself.

Suddenly he looked at the road. Two ladies were passing slowly, absorbed in conversation. They were perfectly attired in velvet, with ample sealskin wraps, and were so entirely distinguishable from the people preceding and following them as to produce on Cortis the effect of an optical illusion. He sat upright and stared after them. One was elderly, gray-haired, refined of feature, and dignified of bearing; the other was the girl who had come on the previous day to borrow a "bright book from Mr. Carey.

Cortis watched them until they had passed the gate; then he hastened to his room, rapidly made some changes in his dress, put on his hat and overcoat, and hurried after them. As they entered the church, he slackened his speed, gave them time to be seated, and then cautiously opened the door of the little Gothic building, and sank into the corner of the last pew. His magnet still knelt with bowed head, but the general movement and a suppressed whisper informed him that the congregation proper was aware of his presence. He could feel glances levelled at him; he could hear sentences read for his benefit. He knew that the music was sung to duly impress his city ears with country perfection of voice and method.

He was conscious of the service, read with unaffected ease and beautiful fervency of intonation; also, of a sermon, of which not a sentence fixed itself in his memory.

He

A coil of nut-brown hair beneath some waving feathers, and the profile of a young, resolute face, lovely with the tints of health, sweet with the beauty of inexperience, animated by the imagination, filled his field of vision. closed his eyes to think of their owner, and opened them only to see her. When the collection was taken up he quietly left the church and sauntered to a convenient distance, where he carelessly lingered until the congregation crowded the doorways. Then he slowly followed two retreating figures, and noticed that they did not stop to exchange remarks with friends, that they did not join any group going in the same direction, nor wait to be overtaken. They again passed the rectory, turned the first corner beyond it and proceeded along a field-bordered road which led to the hills that enclosed the valley with its town and outlying farms. A quarter of a mile away stood a wide, low yellow house, well supplied with porches, and Cortis saw the ladies enter the grounds, reach the hall door. and open it with the air of ownership. Then he returned to the rectory. found every one and everything agreeing to promote his comfort. His appearance at service had secretly flattered Mr. Carey, and Mrs. Carey unconsciously reflected her husband's satisfaction. The dinner was delicious; pleasant topics were discussed by the host and hostess; Cortis listened attentively, but answered abstractedly. As soon as courtesy permitted he retired to his own room, and shortly afterward he again left the house. Mrs. Carey watched his departure and sighed audibly. The collar of his coat was drawn above his ears, the peak of his cap met the large green shades.

He

"How depressed he seems! He looks and acts as if he did not want to be spoken to. He scarcely ate any dinner. Dear me if he does not grow more cheerful his eyes will not improve. I wish we could think of something that would interest him."

Mr. Carey gazed meditatively at his wife:

"He is completely absorbed, Honor. Perhaps his thoughts are pleasant ones. I made some additions to the sermon for his benefit. I suppose you noticed them."

"Oh, yes. They were very beautiful and wonderfully applicable, I thought. He may be occupied with them now. I am glad he went out; alone and in the pure air he will be able to reflect seriously."

Mrs. Carey pursued this train of thought while enjoying her low chair and the crackling and blazing of the logs. Her husband found his evening sermon and proceeded to amplify it.

Meanwhile, Cortis walked rapidly toward the yellow house; but when he reached the fence that enclosed its lawn he went slowly and observingly by the thickly intertwined branches of the shrubbery that rose above the top bars. The west porch was aglow with sunshine, and a tall woman walked up and down, carrying on her shoulder a whiterobed infant.