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 USTACE BRIGHT told the legend of Bellerophon with as much fervour and animation as if he had really been taking a gallop on the winged horse. At the conclusion, he was gratified to discern, by the glowing countenances of his auditors, how greatly they had been interested. All their eyes were dancing in their heads, except those of Primrose. In her eyes there were positively tears; for she was conscious of something in the legend which the rest of them were not yet old enough to feel. Child’s story as it was, the student had contrived to breathe through it the ardour, the generous hope, and the imaginative enterprise of youth.

‘I forgive you now, Primrose,’ said he, ‘for all your ridicule of myself and my stories. One tear pays for a great deal of laughter.’

‘Well, Mr. Bright,’ answered Primrose, wiping her eyes, and giving him another of her mischievous smiles, ‘it certainly does elevate your ideas, to get your head