When she re-entered the room, a half-hour later, Mrs. Murray leaned against the mantelpiece, with an open letter in her hand and dreary disappointment printed on her face.

“I hope you have no unpleasant tidings from Mr. Murray.  May I ask why you seem so much depressed?”

The mother’s features twitched painfully as she restored the letter to its envelope, and answered: 

“My son’s letter is dated Philoe, just two months ago, and he says he intended starting next day to the interior of Persia.  He says, too, that he did not expect to remain away so long, but finds that he will probably be in Central Asia for another year.  The only comforting thing in the letter is the assurance that he weighs more, and is in better health, than when he left home.”

The ringing of the door-bell announced Mr. Leigh’s arrival, and as she led the way to the parlor, Mrs. Murray hastily fastened a drooping spray of coral berries in Edna’s hair.

Before tea was ended, other visitors came in, and the orphan found relief from her confusion in the general conversation.

While Dr. Rodney, the family physician, was talking to her about some discoveries of Ehrenberg, concerning which she was very curious, Mr. Leigh engrossed Mrs. Murray’s attention, and for some time their conversation was exceedingly earnest; then the latter rose and approached the sofa where Edna sat, saying gravely: 

“Edna, give me this seat, I want to have a little chat with the doctor; and, by the way, my dear, I believe Mr. Leigh is waiting for you to show him some book you promised to find for him.  Go into the library—­there is a good fire there.”

The room was tempting indeed to students, and as the two sat down before the glowing grate, and Mr. Leigh glanced at the warm, rich curtains sweeping from ceiling to carpet, the black-walnut book-cases girding the walls on all sides, and the sentinel bronze busts keeping watch over the musty tombs within, he rubbed his fingers and exclaimed: 

“Certainly this is the most delightful library in the world, and offers a premium for recluse life and studious habits.  How incomprehensible it is that Murray should prefer to pass his years roaming over deserts and wandering about neglected, comfortless khans, when he might spend them in such an elysium as this!  The man must be demented!  How do you explain the mystery?”

“Chacun a son gout!  I consider it none of my business, and as I suppose he is the best judge of what contributes to his happiness, I do not meddle with the mystery.”

“Poor Murray! his wretched disposition is a great curse.  I pity him most sincerely.”

“From what I remember of him, I am afraid he would not thank you for your pity, or admit that he needed or merited it.  Here is the Targum, Mr. Leigh, and here is the very passage you want.”

She opened an ancient Chaldee Ms., and spreading it on the library table, they examined it together, spelling out the words, and turning frequently to a dictionary which lay near.  Neither knew much about the language; now and then they differed in the interpretation, and more than once Edna referred to the rules of her grammar, to establish the construction of the sentences.