Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. “We can be alone?” She inquired. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. “I believe it is.
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