Mac apparently understood, and not only took the hint, but surpassed her in cheerful composure; for, merely saying, "Good-by, cousin; write when you feel like it," he shook hands, and walked out of the house as tranquilly as if only a day instead of three months were to pass before they met again. Rose felt as if a sudden shower-bath had chilled her, and was about to retire, saying to herself with disdainful decision,—
"There's no love about it after all; only one of the eccentricities of genius," when a rush of cold air made her turn, to find herself in what appeared to be the embrace of an impetuous overcoat, which wrapt her close for an instant, then vanished as suddenly as it came, leaving her to hide in the sanctum, and confide to Psyche with a tender sort of triumph in her breathless voice,—
"No, no, it isn't genius: that must be love!"
CHAPTER XIX.
BEHIND THE FOUNTAIN.
TWO days after Christmas, a young man of a serious aspect might have been seen entering one of the large churches at L. Being shown to a seat, he joined in the services with praiseworthy devo-
