Mrs. Kinalden's face has grown long again, and the sour look has returned. It is strange what a gutta-percha capacity it has! Not so very strange though since she has not attended to the direction to purge herself from all internal sources of disquiet.

There isn't a person in the world that could maintain an equable temperament and expression, if every little outward vexation were suffered to penetrate him. Mrs. Kinalden has never learned to look within for her chief pleasure and enjoyment. Poor soul! it is little she would find to attract her in its present aspect, and that is the reason she does not care to enter the recesses of her heart; but depends upon the things that surround her for her delight; and they can not but fail to bring her any peace. If she would only consent to sweep and garnish the hidden chambers, and adorn them with the beauteous and goodly things which all may possess, she would find it very comforting to withdraw from other things, and spend her sweetest moments there, and the bright cheerful expression would be permanent then.

It is not easy to take this advice, however, and we give the landlady up as a hopeless case. Mr. Bond is the only person whose arguments weigh any thing with her, and he, indifferent man, does not even perceive his influence; but goes about his own business, as if there were no disconsolate widow pining away her desolate being for him. The boarders recognize the fact, and they enjoy the fun, and flatter her into the belief that the bachelor is willin', but too diffident to propose, and they tell her that she must not be shy—that she can reveal the state of her feelings in a delicate way—and, when they have every thing in a right train, they withdraw from the little parlor, as Mr. Bond comes in for a moment's conversation with the old lady. She is terribly perturbed now that the moment has really come, and the innocent man seeing her distress, and fearing that some serious evil has happened to occasion it, begs her to tell him what troubles her, assuring her of his sympathy and aid. He even places a chair near her, and seats himself so close to her that his hand rests upon the arm of the sofa where she is sitting.

She loses her fear then, and says, in a tremulous tone, she has been thinking of Mr. Kinalden. Mr. Bond appreciates that. Is not there a kindred spirit in his own thoughts every moment of his life? Mrs. Kinalden begins to rise in his estimation, and he chides himself for ever imagining her untrue to her husband's memory; so he sighs, and listens as she goes on to say that she used to have scruples about throwing off her widowhood; but her days are very lonely, and she might be induced "to change her mind". Mr. Bond puts her down a peg again; but feeling that he must congratulate her if she has really determined to marry, he tells her he is really very happy! and this encourages her to speak openly of him as the object of her affectionate designs.

There is a suppressed giggle in an adjoining room as the quick tread of the bachelor is heard upon the stairs; but he does not feel like laughing. He is shocked! he is indignant, that any one should ever dream of his being faithless to his early love!

How he came face to face with the cherished portrait, he does not know! That something strange has occurred he is sure; yet he stands there in his bewildered mood, a long, long time, wondering whether he is in or out of the body, and why Betty Lathrop could not have been spared to cheer his declining years? What! Peter Bond is not sad!

Isn't it enough to depress any one to be surprised by such a novel and unwelcome announcement when his own heart is dead to all but the one beloved?

Of course Mr. Bond could not remain in Mrs. Kinalden's house after this, and so he took a room in the same house with his young friends, and Nannie's mother went in every day to keep it in order, and it soon grew to be as dear as the old spot, for the same furniture was there, and the same face upon the canvas.