seen it drop like a cloud around her and nearly touched her feet. At that moment, seeing him, she blushed. He pleaded, for once, a Congressman’s impudence, and without her objection wound that great crown of woman’s glory around her head, and, as he did so, the perfection of her form and skin, and the overrunning health and height of the Virginia girl, struck him so thoroughly that he said:

“Miss Joyce, I don’t wonder that Virginia is the mother of Presidents.”

Between Reybold and Joyce there were already the delicate relations of a girl who did not know that she was a woman and a man who knew she was beautiful and worthy. He was a man vigilant over himself, and the poverty and menial estate of Joyce Basil were already insuperable obstacles to marrying her, but still he was attracted by her insensibility that he could ever have regarded her in the light of marriage. “Who was her father, the Judge?” he used to reflect. The Judge was a favourite topic with Mrs. Basil at the table.

“Mr. Reybold,” she would say, “you commercial people of the Nawth can’t hunt, I believe. Jedge Basil is now on the mountains of Fawquear hunting the plova. His grandfather’s estate is full of plova.”

If, by chance, Reybold saw a look of care on Mrs. Basil’s face, he inquired for the Judge, her husband, and found he was still shooting on the Occequan.

“Does he never come to Washington, Mrs. Basil?” asked Reybold one day, when his mind was very full of Joyce, the daughter.

“Not while Congress is in session,” said Mrs. Basil. “It’s a little too much of the oi polloi for the Judge. His family, you may not know, Mr. Reybold, air of the Basils of King George. They married into the Tayloze of Mount Snaffle. The Tayloze of Mount Snaffle have Ingin blood in their veins—the blood of Pokyhuntus. They dropped the name of Taylor, which had got to be common through a want of Ingin blood, and spelled it with a E. It used to be Taylor, but now it’s Tayloze.”

On another occasion, at sight of Joyce Basil cooking over the fire, against whose flame her moulded arms took momentary roses upon their ivory, Reybold said to himself: “Surely there is something above the common in the race of this girl.” And he asked the question of Mrs. Basil:

“Madame, how was the Judge, your husband, at the last advices?”

“Hunting the snipe, Mr. Reybold. I suppose you do not have the snipe in the Nawth. It is the aristocratic fowl of the Old Dominion. Its bill is only shorter than its legs, and it will not brown at the fire, to perfection, unless upon a silver spit. Ah! when the Jedge and myself were young, before his land troubles overtook us, we went to the springs with our own silver and carriages, Mr. Reybold.”

Looking up at Mrs. Basil, Reybold noticed a pallor and flush alternately, and she evaded his eye.

Once Mrs. Basil borrowed a hundred dollars from Reybold in advance of board, and the table suffered in consequence.

“The Judge,” she had explained, “is short of taxes on his Fawquear lands. It’s a desperate moment with him.” Yet in two days the Judge was shooting blue-winged teal at the mouth of the Accotink, and his entire indifference to his family set Reybold to thinking whether the Virginia husband and father was anything more than a forgetful savage. The boarders, however, made very merry over the absent unknown. If the beefsteak was tough, threats were made to send for “the Judge,” and let him try a tooth on it; if scant, it was suggested that the Judge might have paid a gunning visit to the premises and inspected the larder. The daughter of the house kept such an even temper, and was so obliging within the limitations of the establishment, that many a boarder went to his department without complaint, though with an appetite only partly satisfied. The boy, Uriel, also was the guardsman of the household, old-faced as if with the responsibility of taking care of two woman. Indeed, the children of the landlady were so well