I laid down the paper, and drew a long, free breath; then rang a peal of merriment, startling under the circumstances.  It was the first hearty laugh that had left my lips for many days.  “What an oddity, one or the other of these people must be!” I thought, “the man most probably—­yes, I am sure it is he—­no woman ever was so independent of references, or made youth a sine qua non, nor elocution either.  But am I soundly constituted? ay, there’s the rub! suppose my terrible foe sees fit to interfere, ‘Epilepsy,’ as Evelyn called it, and perhaps with reason—­God alone knows!—­what then?  Well, I will hazard it—­that is all—­I will charge nothing for lost days, and try to be zealous in the interval; besides, it is a long time since one of these obliteration spells occurred; for I shall ever believe Evelyn dosed me for her own purposes on that last occasion!  Fiend!—­fiend!—­and yet my little sister must remain in such hands for a season, protected by her guardian angel only.”

I passed a feverish night, employing the first part of it in quilting my diamonds into a belt which I placed about my waist; and the remainder in putting together as many useful, as well as a few handsome clothes, as my travelling-trunk would contain; bonnets, evening-dresses, which require room to dispose of, and the like vanities, I abandoned to Evelyn’s tender mercies.  I rose early and, as usual whenever the weather permitted, sallied forth before breakfast, but this time unaccompanied by my usual attendant, Charity.

The “Mansion House” was at no great distance from our own residence.  The beautiful home of the Bingham family, then converted into an hotel, destroyed by fire at a later period, like our own house, was situated in the ancient part of the city, from which fashion had gradually emerged, and shrank away to found new streets and dwellings.

I rang at the private door, and asked the porter for “Somnus;” at the same time sending up a card, on which was written: 

“‘Miriam Harz,’ applicant for the post of teacher.”

A few moments later a grave, copper-colored servant, respectably clad, and with an air of responsibility about him that was almost oppressive, invited me solemnly to follow him up the winding marble stair—­so often trodden by the feet of Washington and his court, when a gracious assemblage filled the halls above—­and ushered me into a small but lofty parlor at its head, in which a gentleman sat reading the morning journal.

Very wide awake, indeed, seemed he who affected the title of the god of sleep, as he arose courteously from his chair, still holding his paper in one hand, and waved me to a seat on the worn horse-hair sofa between the windows.

He was a tall, thin, sallow, hooked-nosed gentleman, of middle age, with a certain air of distinction about him in contrast with his singular homeliness.

“Miss Harz?” he said, interrogatively, glancing at the card over the mantel-shelf—­near which he had been sitting—­above an unseasonable, smouldering coal-fire.