Ch. 14 - Which? - Page 2

they belonged to another race; not men nor
angels, but a delightful mixture of the two; more as she imagined
the gods and heroes of old; not perfect, but wonderfully strong and
brave and good; each gifted with a separate virtue, and each bent on
a mission that should benefit mankind.

Nor was this the only pleasure given her. One evening of each week
was set apart by Mr. Power for the reception of whomsoever chose to
visit him; for his parish was a large one, and his house a safe
haunt for refugees from all countries, all oppressions.

Christie enjoyed these evenings heartily, for there was no ceremony;
each comer brought his mission, idea, or need, and genuine
hospitality made the visit profitable or memorable to all, for
entire freedom prevailed, and there was stabling for every one's
hobby.

Christie felt that she was now receiving the best culture, acquiring
the polish that society gives, and makes truly admirable when
character adds warmth and power to its charm. The presence of her
bosom-care calmed the old unrest, softened her manners, and at times
touched her face with an expression more beautiful than beauty. She
was quite unconscious of the changes passing over her; and if any
one had told her she was fast becoming a most attractive woman, she
would have been utterly incredulous. But others saw and felt the new
charm; for no deep experience bravely borne can fail to leave its
mark, often giving power in return for patience, and lending a
subtle loveliness to faces whose bloom it has destroyed.

This fact was made apparent to Christie one evening when she went
down to the weekly gathering in one of the melancholy moods which
sometimes oppressed her. She felt dissatisfied with herself because
her interest in all things began to flag, and a restless longing for
some new excitement to break up the monotonous pain of her inner
life possessed her. Being still a little shy in company, she slipped
quietly into a recess which commanded a view of both rooms, and sat
looking listlessly about her while waiting for David, who seldom
failed to come.

A curious collection of fellow-beings was before herj and at another
time she would have found much to interest and amuse her. In one
corner a newly imported German with an Orson-like head, thumb-ring,
and the fragrance of many meerschaums still hovering about him, was
hammering away upon some disputed point with a scientific Frenchman,
whose national politeness was only equalled by his national
volubility. A prominent statesman was talking with a fugitive slave;
a young poet getting inspiration from the face and voice of a
handsome girl who had earned the right to put M. D. to her name. An
old philosopher was calming the ardor of