The mighty concourse became for a moment still. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. Hist!" cried he, as a scream was heard from without. She went out into the hall, where she met the Jedsons in their kimonos. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ‘It must be painful.
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