Miss Macy, as promptly noting the fact, darted forward to recover the letter.  Lizzie stooped also, fiercely jealous of her touch; but the other reached the precious paper first, andas she seized it, Lizzie knew that she had seen whence it fell, and was weaving round the incident a rapid web of romance.

Lizzie blushed with annoyance.  “It’s too stupid, having no pockets!  If one gets a letter as she is going out in the morning, she has to carry it in her blouse all day.”

Miss Macy looked at her with swimming eyes.  “It’s warm fromyour heart!” she breathed, reluctantly yielding up the missive.

Lizzie laughed, for she knew better:  she knew it was the letter that had warmed her heart.  Poor Andora Macy! She would never know.  Her bleak bosom would never take fire from such a contact.  Lizzie looked at her with kind eyes, secretly chafing at the injustice of fate.

The next evening, on her return home, she found Andora hovering in the entrance hall.

“I thought you’d like me to put this in your own hand,” Miss Macy whispered significantly, pressing a letter upon Lizzie.  “I couldn’t bear to see it lying on the table with theothers.”

It was Deering’s letter from the steamer.  Lizzie blushed tothe forehead, but without resenting Andora’s divination.  She could not have breathed a word of her bliss, but she was not altogethersorry to have it guessed, and pity for Andora’s destitution yielded to the pleasure of using it as a mirror for her own abundance.  DEERING wrote again on reaching New York, a long, fond, dissatisfied letter, vague in its indication of his own projects, specific in the expression of his love.  Lizzie brooded over every syllable of it till they formed the undercurrent of all her waking thoughts, and murmured through her midnight dreams; but she wouldhave been happier if they had shed some definite light on the future.

That would come, no doubt, when he had had time to look about and get his bearings.  She counted up the days that must elapse before she received his next letter, and stole down early to peepat the papers, and learn when the next American mail was due.  Atlength the happy date arrived, and she hurried distractedly through the day’s work, trying to conceal her impatience by the endearments she bestowed upon her pupils.  It was easier, in her present mood, to kiss them than to keep them at their grammars.

That evening, on Mme. Clopin’s threshold, her heart beat so wildly that she had to lean a moment against the door-post beforeentering.  But on the hall table, where the letters lay, there was none for her.

She went over them with a feverish hand, her heart dropping down and down, as she had sometimes fallen down an endless stairway in a dream—­the very same stairway up which she had seemed to flywhen she climbed the long hill to Deering’s door.  Then it suddenly struck her that Andora might have found and secreted her letter, and with a spring she was on the actual stairs and rattling Miss Macy’s door-handle.