Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. Wood the carpenter. "My friends need not fear my return. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. It was clear it must be to-morrow. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. Get out your pad and pencil. One of your arms shall be drawn to one side of the room, and the other arm to the other side, and your legs shall be served in the like manner. " She departed reluctantly. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. "And now, farewell, Mr.
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