"Teaching school."

"Teaching school!" echoed the other,--"Endecott Linden teaching school!--Pegasus in pound!--How did the rustics catch him?"

"Pegasus came of his own accord, if I remember."

"Pshaw, yes!--but Linden. For what conceivable reason did he let himself down to teach school?"

"He didn't--" said the other a little hotly. "He wouldn't let himself down if he turned street-sweeper."

"True--he has a sort of natural dais which he carries about with him,--I suppose he'd make the crossing the court end. But I say, what did he do _this_ for?"

"Why--for money!" said the first speaker. "What an ado about nothing!"

"Inconceivable! Just imagine, George, a man who can sing as he does, teaching a, b, ab!"

"Well--imagine it," said George,--"and then you'll wish you were six years old to have him teach _you_."

"How cross you are," said his friend lazily. "And despotic. Was there nothing left of all that immense property? I've just come home, you know."

"Not much," said George. "A little--but Endecott wouldn't touch that--it was all put at interest for Miss Pet. He would have it so, and even supported her as long as she staid in the country. What he works so hard for now I don't understand."

"Works, does he? I thought he was studying for the church--going to bury himself again. It's a crying shame! why he might be member, minister, Secretary, President!"

"He!" cried George in hot disdain,--"he soil his fingers with politics!

No--he's in the right place now,--there's no other pure enough for him."

"I didn't know you admired the church so much," said his friend ironically.

"I don't--only the place in it where he'll stand. That's grand."

"And so he's at work yet?"

"Yes indeed--and it puzzles me. That year here ought to have carried him through his studies."

"Why what can he do?--not teach school now,--he's no time for it."

"He can give lessons--and does. Makes the time, I suppose. You know he has learned about everything _but_ Theology. Olyphant was telling me about it the other day."

"What a strange thing!" said the other musingly, "such a family, so swept overboard! What a house that was! You remember his mother, George?"

"I should think so!--and the way Endecott used to sing to her every night, no matter who was there."

"Yes," said the doctor's confrere--"and come to her to be kissed afterwards. I should have laughed at any other man--but it set well on him. So did her diamond ring in his hair, which she was so fond of handling. How did he make out to live when she died?"

"I don't know--" said George with a half drawn breath--a little reverently too: "I suppose he could tell you. But all that first year n.o.body saw him--unless somebody in need or sorrow: _they_ could always find him. He looked as if he had taken leave of the world--except to work for it."

"How courted he used to be!"--said the other--"how petted--_not_ spoiled, strange to say. Do you suppose he'll ever marry, George? will he ever find any one to suit his notions? He's had enough to choose from already--in Europe and here. What do they say of him off yonder--where he is now?"

"They say he's--rock crystal,--because ice will melt," said George. "So I suppose his notions are as high as ever."

"You used to admire Miss Linden, if I remember," said his friend. "What a ring that was!--I wonder if she's got it. George--I sha'n't walk any further in this mud--turn about."

Which the two did, suddenly. Both stepped aside out of Faith's way, in surprise--her light footfall had not made them lower their voices. But in that moment they could see that she was a lady; in acknowledgment of which fact the one gentleman bowed slightly, and the other lifted his hat. Faith had thrown back her veil to hear better what they were saying, not expecting so sudden an encounter; and as she pa.s.sed, secure in being a stranger, gave them both a view of as soft a pair of eyes as they had either of them ever looked into, which also sought theirs with a curious intentness, borne out by the high bright tinge which excitement had brought into her cheeks. Both of them saw and remembered, for swift as it was, the look was not one to forget. But the glance added little to what Faith knew already about the strangers, and she went on her way feeling as if a stricture had been bound tight round her heart.

The words about Mr. Linden's fastidiousness she knew quite enough of him to verify; and in the light of these people's talk it almost seemed to Faith as if there had been some glamour about her--as if she should some day prove to be "magician's coin" after all. But though the old sense of unworthiness swept over her, Faith was not of a temper to dwell long or heavily upon such a doubt. Her heart had been strangely stirred besides by what was said of his mother, and his old way of life, and his changes. She knew about them of course before; yet as a trifle, the touching of a single ray, will often give a new view of an old scene,--those side words of strangers set all Mr. Linden's time of joy and sorrow with such vivid reality before her, that her heart was like to break with it. That effect too, more or less, pa.s.sed away from her mind,--never entirely. Another thing staid.

"What he works so hard for now"--Then he was working hard! and doing his own studies and correcting her French exercises, and giving her lessons all the while, as well as to other people; and bringing her gifts with the fruit of his work! And not an atom of it all could Faith touch to change. She pondered it, and she knew it. She doubted whether she could with any good effect venture so much as a remonstrance; and the more Faith thought, the more this doubt resolved itself into certainty. And all the while, he was working hard! Round that fact her thoughts beat, like an alarmed bird round its nest; about as helplessly.

Mrs. Derrick thought Faith was more grave and abstracted than usual that day, and sometimes thought so afterwards; that was all Faith made known.

Dr. Harrison thought the same thing on the next occasion of his seeing her, and on the next; or rather he thought she held off from him more than usual; what the root of it might be he was uncertain. And circ.u.mstances were unfavourable to the exactness of his observations for some time thereafter.

It was yet early in March, when Mrs. Stoutenburgh took a very troublesome and tedious fever, which lasted several weeks. It was reckoned dangerous, part of the time, and Mrs. Derrick and Faith were in very constant attendance. Faith especially, for Mrs. Stoutenburgh liked no one else so well about her; and grat.i.tude and regard made her eager to do all she might. So daily and nightly she was at Mrs.

Stoutenburgh's bedside, ministering to her in all the gentle offices of a nurse, and in that line besides where Mr. Linden had declared Dr.

Harrison but half knew his profession. And there, and about this work, Dr. Harrison met her.

Their meetings were of necessity very often; but no lectures, nor discussions, nor much conversation, were now possible. Faith felt she had a vantage ground, and used it The doctor felt he had lost ground, or at the least was not gaining; and against some felt but unrecognized obstacle in his way his curiosity and pa.s.sion chafed. He could see Faith nowhere else now; she contrived not to meet him at home. She was out with Reuben--or resting--or unavoidably busy, when he came there.

And Dr. Harrison knew the resting times were needed, and could only fume against the business--in which he sometimes had some reason.

One day he found her at her post in the sick room, when Mrs.

Stoutenburgh had fallen asleep. It was towards the end of the afternoon. An open Bible lay on the bed's side; and Faith sat there resting her head on her hand. She was thinking how hard Mr. Linden was working, and herself looking somewhat as if she were following his example.

"What are you doing?" said the doctor softly.

"I have been reading to Mrs. Stoutenburgh."

"Feverish--" whispered the doctor.

"No;--she has gone to sleep."

"Tired her!--"

"No," said Faith with a smile, "it's resting. The Bible never tired any one yet, that loved it--I think."

"Well people--" said the doctor.

"Sick people! You're mistaken, Dr. Harrison. Sick people most of all."

"Do you know that you will be sick next," said he gravely, "if you do not take more care?"

A fair little smile denied any fear or care on that subject, but did not satisfy the doctor.

"I do not approve of what you are doing," said he seriously.

"Reading this?"

"Even the same."