the dismissal of the incumbent, madam kindly tendered her.  The salary was limited, of course; but nothing else presented itself, and, quitting the desk, where she had so often pored over her text-books, she prepared to grapple with the trials which thickly beset the path of a young woman thrown upon her own resources for maintenance.  Clara was naturally amiable, unselfish, and trusting.  She was no intellectual prodigy, yet her mind was clear and forcible, her judgment matured, and, above all, her pure heart warm and loving.  Notwithstanding the stern realities that marked her path, there was a vein of romance in her nature which, unfortunately, attained more than healthful development, and while it often bore her into the Utopian realms of fancy, it was still impotent to modify, in any degree, the social difficulties with which she was forced to contend.  Ah, there is a touching beauty in the radiant up-look of a girl just crossing the limits of youth, and commencing her journey through the checkered sphere of womanhood!  It is all dew-sparkle and morning glory to her ardent, buoyant spirit, as she presses forward exulting in blissful anticipations.  But the withering heat of the conflict of life creeps on; the dewdrops exhale, the garlands of hope, shattered and dead, strew the path, and too often, ere noontide, the clear brow and sweet smile are exchanged for the weary look of one longing for the evening rest, the twilight, the night.  Oh, may the good God give his sleep early unto these many!

There was a dawning light in Clara’s eyes which showed that, though as yet a mere girl in years, she had waked to the consciousness of emotions which belong to womanhood.  She was pretty, and of course she knew it, for I am skeptical of those characters who grow up to mature beauty, all unsuspicious of the fatal dower, and are some day startled by a discovery of their possessions.  She knew, too, that female loveliness was an all-potent spell, and, depressing as were the circumstances of her life and situation, she felt that a brighter lot might be hers, without any very remarkable or seemingly inconsistent course of events.

CHAPTER XII.

“Harriet, bring me a cup of strong coffee.”

Dr. Hartwell had returned late in the afternoon of the second day, and, travel-worn and weary, threw himself down on the sofa in his study.  There was a pale severity in his face which told that his reflections during his brief absence had been far from pleasant, and as he swept back the hair from his forehead, and laid his head on the cushion, the whole countenance bespoke the bitterness of a proud but miserable man.  He remained for some time with closed eyes, and when the coffee was served drank it without comment.  Harriet busied herself about the room, doing various unnecessary things, and wondering why her master did not inquire concerning home affairs.  Finally, having exhausted every pretext for lingering, she coughed very spasmodically once or twice, and, putting her hand on the knob of the door, said deferentially: