“An inevitable consequence of the fact, that they considered wisdom as synonymous with sleepless and unscrupulous cunning!  Schiller declares that ‘man depicts himself in his gods’; and even a cursory inspection of the classics proves that all the abhorred and hideous ideas of the ancients were personified by woman.  Pluto was affable, and beneficent, and gentlemanly, in comparison with Brimo; ditto might be said of Loke and Hela, and the most appalling idea that ever attacked the brain of mankind, found incarnation in the Fates and Furies, who are always women.  Unfortunately the mythologies of the world crystallized before the age of chivalry, and a little research will establish the unflattering fact that human sins and woes are traced primarily to female agency; while it is patent that all the rows and squabbles that disgraced Olympus were stirred up by scheming goddesses!”

“Thank heaven! here comes Mr. Allston; I can smooth the ruffled plumes of my self-love in his sunny smiles, and forget your growls.  Good morning, Mr. Allston; what happy accident brought you again so soon to Le Bocage and its disconsolate inmates?”

Edna picked up the magazine which lay in one corner, and made her escape.

The gratification arising from the acceptance and prompt publication of her essay, was marred by Mr. Murray’s sneering comments; but still her heart was happier than it had been for many weeks, and as she turned to the Editor’s Table and read a few lines complimenting “the article of a new contributor,” and promising another from the same pen for the ensuing month, her face flushed joyfully.

While she felt it difficult to realize that her writings had found favor in Mr. Manning’s critical eyes, she thanked God that she was considered worthy of communicating; with her race through the medium of a magazine so influential and celebrated.  She thought it probable that Mr. Manning had written her a few lines, and wondered whether at that moment a letter was not hidden in St. Elmo’s pocket.

Taking the magazine, she went into Mrs. Murray’s room, and found her resting on a lounge.  Her face wore a troubled expression, and Edna saw traces of tears on the pillow.

“Come in, child; I was just thinking of you.”

She put out her hand, drew the girl to a seat near the lounge, and sighed heavily.

“Dear Mrs. Murray, I am very, very happy, and I have come to make a confession and ask your congratulations.”

She knelt down beside her, and, taking the white fingers of her benefactress, pressed her forehead against them.

“A confession, Edna!  What have you done?”

Mrs. Murray started up and lifted the blushing face.

“Some time ago you questioned me concerning some letters which excited your suspicion, and which I promised to explain at some future day.  I dare say you will think me very presumptuous when I tell you that I have been aspiring to authorship; that I was corresponding with Mr. Manning on the subject of a Ms. which I had sent for his examination, and now I have come to show you what I have been doing.  You heard Mr. Murray read an essay this morning from the—­Magazine, which he ridiculed very bitterly, but which Mr. Manning at least thought worthy of a place in his pages.  Mrs. Murray, I wrote that article.”