“Not ‘selfish.’  The human soul seeks recognition, and finds it often a difficult task to wait for the presence of that human face which says in every line and feature, ’I know you; I feel your salient thoughts and motives.’  A long time it takes us to learn to do without the approving smile of man, and go on our way with none but God and angels to sanction our efforts.  I, too, have hours of darkness.  All souls are at times tossed on heaving waters, that they may rise higher than their weary feet can climb.”

“You have done me good to-day; but do not go,” she said, seeing him rise to leave.

“I must; but first tell me if I can have your aid in a material matter, which I had nearly forgotten?”

“I am at your service.”

“Well, then, I am going to have a party, which I suppose is the last thing you would have imagined of me.”

“I should have thought of any thing else; but what has put such an idea into your head?”

“Some fairy, perhaps.  I expect to get some life out of it, and the satisfaction of seeing my guests enjoying themselves.  I shall bring together a strange medley,—­counterparts, affinities, opposites, and every form of temperament which our little village affords, besides drawing on places largely remote from here.  I must go now.  Will you come and help us to-morrow?”

“I will.  My love to Dawn and Miss Vernon.”

“Thank you,” and he passed out, leaving her bright and full of hope.  She felt the transfusion of his strong life into her own, and neither herself nor her friend was the same as yesterday.

The day for the party was fair and balmy.  Dawn and Miss Vernon rode to the green-house and purchased flowers for the occasion, and the home seemed like a fairy bower, so artistically and elegantly had they arranged the fresh and fragrant blossoms.

Miss Evans glided from room to room, placing a vase here, and a statuette there, as her feeling suggested, and what was her fancy was Hugh’s, for their tastes were one, and their lives ran parallel in natural, innocent ways, never able to translate their feelings to another, but giving and enjoying each other more and more at every meeting.

Poor Mrs. Norton thought how pleasant it would be to her, to see a room full of beautiful things, pleasant faces, and elegant clothes:  it would be such a contrast to her own dull life, which would be still more lonely but for the frequent visits of Mr. Wyman’s family, and the substantial evidence often given by them that they did not forget the poor and needy.  She arrayed herself neatly in her black alpacca, the gift of a friend; and when she looked in her little glass which hung above the table, just were it did thirty years ago, when her good husband was alive, a rush of better thoughts and feelings came over her.  She lived over again the happy days of her married life, and almost thought she was making ready to walk by her husband’s side to the little church on the hill.  Then the scene changed, years rolled away, and it seemed but yesterday when she leaned over the coffin, and looked on the still, pale face that would never light her home again.  Thoughts grew into words, and she said,—­