“How is Thurston?  How is Miriam?  How are they all at Luckenough?”

“All are well; the family at Luckenough are absent in the South, but are expected home every week.”

“And where is Miriam?”

“At the village.”

“And Thurston?”

“In his library, as usual,” said Paul, and touched the bell to summon a messenger to send to Mr. Willcoxen.

“Have you dined, Cloudy?”

“Yes, no—­I ate some bread and cheese at the village; don’t fuss; I’d rather wait till supper-time.”

The door opened, and Mr. Willcoxen entered.

Whatever secret anxiety might have weighed upon the minister’s heart, no sign of it was suffered to appear upon his countenance, as, smiling cordially, he came in holding out his hand to welcome his cousin and early playmate, expressing equal surprise and pleasure at seeing him.

Cloudy had to go over the ground of explanation of his sudden arrival, and by the time he had finished, old Jenny came in, laughing and wriggling with joy to see him.  But Jenny did not remain long in the parlor; she hurried out into the kitchen to express her feelings professionally by preparing a welcome feast.

“And you are not married yet, Thurston, as great a favorite as you are with the ladies!  How is that?  Every time I come home I expect to be presented to a Mrs. Willcoxen, and never am gratified; why is that?”

“Perhaps I believe in the celibacy of the clergy.”

“Perhaps you have never recovered the disappointment of losing Miss Le Roy?”

“Ah!  Cloudy, people who live in glass houses should not throw stones; I suspect you judge me by yourself.  How is it with you, Cloudy?  Has no fair maiden been able to teach you to forget your boy-love for Jacquelina?”

Cloudy winced, but tried to cover his embarrassment with a laugh.

“Oh!  I have been in love forty dozen times.  I’m always in love; my heart is continually going through a circle from one fit to another, like the sun through the signs of the zodiac; only it never comes to anything.”

“Well, at least little Jacko is forgotten, which is one congratulatory circumstance.”

“No, she is not forgotten; I will not wrong her by saying that she is, or could be!  All other loves are merely the foreign ports, which my heart visits transiently now and then.  Lina is its native home.  I don’t know how it is.  With most cases of disappointment, such as yours with Miss Le Roy, I suppose the regret may be short-lived enough; but when an affection has been part and parcel of one’s being from infancy up; why, it is in one’s soul and heart and blood, so to speak—­is identical with one’s consciousness, and inseparable from one’s life.”

“Do you ever see her?”