"Eh bien--Mademoiselle," he said gravely but holding her fast,--"suppose you do!"

"Then we should have it."

"Undoubtedly, Mademoiselle! Vous avez raison."

"And what have you?" said Faith laughing.

"I have _you!_--Love and Reason did meet once, you know."

"Did they?" said Faith looking up. "How should I know?"

"You never found it out in your own personal experience?"

"You say it's a fact," said Faith. "I thought you referred to it as a former fact."

"Like tea--" said Mr. Linden.

"Like tea, Endecott!--what are you talking of?"

"Former facts."--

"I wonder what I shall get you to-night, Endecott"--she said merrily twisting round to look at him,--"you must want something! Is a thing properly said to be former, as long as it is still present?"

"What is present?"

"Tea isn't past"--said Faith with another little flash of her eye.

"If you are going to set up for Reason," said Mr. Linden, "there is no more to be done; but as for me, I may as well submit to my fate.

Shakspeare says, 'To love, and to be wise, exceeds man's might.'"

"I don't think I set up for reason," said Faith,--"only for tea; and you obliged me to take reason instead. I guess--Shakspeare was right."

"Unquestionably!" said Mr. Linden laughing. "Faith, did you ever hear of 'Love in a Cottage'?"

"I believe I have."

"I hope you don't think that includes tea?"

"I never thought it included much good," said Faith. "I always thought it was something foolish."

"There spoke Reason!" said Mr. Linden,--"and I shall not dare to speak again for ten minutes. Faith, you will have time to meditate." And his eyes went to the fire and staid there. Faith meditated--or waited upon his meditations; for her eyes now and then sought his face somewhat wistfully to see if she could read what he was thinking of--which yet she could not read. But her exploring looks in that direction were too frequent to leave room for the supposition that Reason made much progress.

"Faith," Mr. Linden said, suddenly intercepting one of these looks, "now let us compare results--before we meditate any further. What have you to shew?"

"Nothing"--said Faith frankly.

"I on my part have made a great discovery, which will perhaps answer for us both. It is very simple, as most great discoveries are, being merely this: that I prefer other things than reproofs from the lips of Reason. Will you have an ill.u.s.tration?"

"Can't I understand without?" said Faith laughing, but with also a little rising colour. And very smilingly she had her answer--the only answer she could expect.

"I believe you are principled against saying yes!" said Mr. Linden.

"The most encouraging thing you ever said to me was 'Oh no!'"

What swift recollection, what quick sympathy with that time, spoke in the crimson of Faith's cheeks! It was something to see "the eloquent blood." Eyes were not to be seen. Mr. Linden smiled, touching his hand softly to her cheeks.

"O Mignonette!" he said--"or I should rather say, O Roses! or O Carnation! Is there anything beyond that in your Flora?"

In the emergency Faith took possession of the hand that invaded her carnations and turning the full display upon him asked if he would not like to have something more substantial. Apparently "the display" was approved, though there were no words to that effect.

"I suppose I must let you go," he said, "because if we are to study all the evening after tea, it will not do to talk away the whole evening before. You shall choose your own time for hearing my story, dear child--only let me know when the time comes."

There was no shadow upon the tea hour, on Faith's part, nor on the hours of study that followed. The wind swept round the house, March fashion, but the fire and the open books laughed at him. There seemed even a little more than usual of happy gayety in Faith's way of going through her work; she and the fire played at which should get ahead of the other; and between whiles she was obliged to use a little caution to obviate Mr. Linden's surprise at finding how far she was getting ahead of herself. For Faith's early morning studies were not now by any means confined to the lessons he set for her and expected her to do; her object and endeavour was to prevent his requirements, and so prepare the ground _before_ his teachings that without finding out how it came to be so ready, he should simply occupy more of it and cultivate higher. It was rather a nice matter! not to let him see that she had done too much, and yet to make him know that he might take what harvests he pleased off the ground; with such keen eyes too, that knew so well all the relative forces of soil and cultivation and could estimate so surely the fruits of both. Faith managed by not managing at all and by keeping very quiet, as far as possible shewing him nothing he did not directly or indirectly call for; but sometimes she felt she was grazing the edge of discovery, which the least lifting of the veil of Mr. Linden's unsuspiciousness would secure. She felt it to-night, and the fire and she had one or two odd little consultations. Just what Mr. Linden was consulting with himself about at those times, she did not know; but she half fancied it was something. Once the fire called her off at the end of a lesson, and when she came back to the table he had the next book open; but it was not till this set of questions and answers and explanations was half through, that Faith discovered he had opened the book at a different place from the one where it had been closed the day before,--then it suddenly flashed upon her; but whether it had been by accident, or of intent, she did not know.

One last consultation Faith held with the fire while Mrs. Derrick was gathering her work together to go to bed. Then she brought a low seat to Mr. Linden's feet. "Now, Endy,--I am ready." A little smile--a soft, lingering touch upon her forehead, came with his words.

"My little Mignonette, what do you suppose I came to Pattaqua.s.set for?"

She looked rather wondering at him, and then said, "I supposed--to teach the school."

"Yes, but to what end?--I mean in my intent. I know now what I came for, in one sense," he said, securing one of her hands.

"Why--Endecott, do you want me to tell you?"

"If you know or guess."

"I don't know nor guess anything. I supposed merely that you did that as other people do other things--and for the same reason."

"It was for a very commonplace reason," Mr. Linden said, watching her face with two or three things at work in his own: "it was to get money to finish my studies for your favourite profession."

"My favourite profession!--Which do you mean?"

"Have you forgotten Miss Essie's question? I have not--nor the dear child who was so unwilling to answer it."

Faith's mind went back to Miss Essie, the question and answer,--and took the round of the subject,--and even as she did so her face changed, a sort of grave light coming into it,

"Do you mean _that_, Endy?" she said half under her breath.

"I mean that, and no other."

The light brightened and deepened--her colour flushed like a morning sky,--till at last the first sunbeam struck athwart her face, in the shape of a smile. It was not a lip smile--it was on eye and brow and lip and cheek together. Mr. Linden bent down by her, lifting her face to meet his eyes, which through all their intentness smiled too.

"Faith, I want to hear every word of that."

"Of what?"

"Of all that is in your mind and face just now."

Her two little answering sentences evidently only gave the key of very deep tones.