"I know one," I growled, "that would be a particularly ugly customer just now."

"'In Emily Warren's case,' I said, 'it is different,'" Mrs. Yocomb continued. "'She is a motherless girl and has appealed to me for advice and sympathy. In her honest struggle to be loyal to thee she has worn herself almost to a shadow, and I have grave fears for her reason and her life, so great is her prostration. She has for thee, Gilbert Hearn, the sincerest respect and esteem, and the feeling that she has wronged thee, even though she cannot help it, seems almost to crush her.' 'Gilbert,' said his sister warmly, 'you cannot blame her, and you certainly ought to respect her. If she were not an honest- hearted girl she would never have renounced you with your great wealth.' He sank into a chair and looked very white. 'It's a terrible blow,' he said; 'it's the first severe reverse I've ever had.' 'Well,' she replied, 'I know from your character that you will meet it like a man and a gentleman.' 'Certainly,' he said, with a deep breath, 'I cannot do otherwise.' I then rose and bowed, saying: 'You will both excuse me if I am with my charge much of the time. Adah will attend to your wants, and I hope you will feel at home so long as it shall please you to stay.'"

"By Jove! but her tact was wonderful. Not a diplomat in Europe could have done better. The innocent-looking Quakeress was a match for them both."

"Then I went back to Emily," Mrs. Yocomb wrote, "and I found her in a pitiable state of excitement. When I opened the door she started up apprehensively, as if she feared that the man with whom she had broken would burst in upon her with bitter reproaches. I told her everything; for even I cannot deceive her, she is so quick. Her mind was wonderfully lightened, and I soon made her sleep again. She awoke in the evening much quieter, but she cried a good deal in the night, and I surmise she was thinking of thee more than of herself or of him. I wish thee had waited until all this was over, but I think all will come out right."

"Oh, the unutterable fool that I was!" I groaned; "I'm the champion blunderer of the world."

"Well, Richard, this is the longest letter I ever wrote, and I must bring it to a close, for my patient needs me. I will write soon again, and tell thee everything. Goodnight.

"Second Day. P.S.—I left my letter open to add a postscript. Gilbert Hearn and his sister left this morning. The former at last seemed quite calm and resigned, and was very polite. His sister was too. She amused me not a little. I do not think that her heart was greatly set on the match, and she was not so troubled but that she could take an interest in our quiet, homely ways. I think we seemed to her like what you city people call bric-a-brac, but she was too much of a lady to let her curiosity become offensive. She took a great fancy to Adah, especially as she saw that Adela was very fond of her, and she persuaded her brother to leave the child here in our care, saying that she was improving wonderfully. He did not seem at all averse to the plan. Adah is behaving very nicely, if I do say it, and showed a great deal of quiet, gentle dignity. She and Charlotte Bradford had a long chat in the evening about Adela. Adah says, 'Send Richard my love'; and if I put in all the messages from father, Reuben, and Zillah, they would fill another sheet.

"I asked Emily if she had any message for thee. She buried her face in the pillow and murmured, 'Not now, not yet'; but after a moment she turned toward me, looking white and resolute. 'Tell him,' she said, 'to forgive me and forget' Be patient, Richard. Wait. "Thine affectionately,

"Ruth Yocomb."

"Forget!" I shouted. "Yes, when I am annihilated," and I paced my room for hours. At last, exhausted, I sought such rest as I could obtain, but my last thought was, "God bless Ruth Yocomb. I could kiss the ground she had trodden."

The next morning I settled down to my task of waiting and working, resolving that there must be no more nights like the last, in which I had wasted a vast amount of vital force. I wrote to Mrs. Yocomb, and thanked her from a full heart. I sent messages to all the family, and said, "Tell Adah I shall keep her love warm in my heart, and that I send her twice as much of mine in return. Like all brothers, I shall take liberties, and will subscribe in her behalf for the two best magazines in the city. Give Miss Warren this simple message: The words I last spoke to her shall ever be true."

I also told Mrs. Yocomb of my promotion, and that I was no longer a night-owl.

Toward the end of the week came another bulky letter, which I devoured, letting my dinner grow cold.

"Our life at the farmhouse has become very quiet," she wrote. "Emily improves slowly, for her nervous system has received a severe strain. I told her that thee had sent messages to all the family, and asked if she did not expect one. 'I've no right to any—there's no occasion for any,' she faltered; but her eyes were very wistful and entreating. 'Well,' I said, 'I must clear my conscience, and since he sent thee one, I must give it. He writes, 'Say to Miss Warren in reply that the last words I spoke to her shall ever be true.' I suppose thee knows what he means,' I said, smiling; 'I don't.' She buried her face in the pillow again; but I think thy message did her good, for she soon fell asleep, and looked more peaceful than at any time yet."

At last there came a letter saying, "Emily has left us and gone to a cousin—a Mrs. Vining—who resides at Columbus, Ohio. She is much better, but very quiet—very different from her old self. Father put her on the train, and she will have to change cars only once. 'Emily,' I said to her, 'thee can not go away without one word for Richard.' She was deeply moved, but her resolute will gained the mastery. 'I am trying to act for the best,' she said. 'He has appealed to the future: the future must prove us both, for there must be no more mistakes.' 'Does thee doubt thyself, Emily?' 'I have reason to doubt myself, Mrs. Yocomb,' she replied. 'But what does thy heart tell thee?' A deep solemn look came into her eyes, and after a few moments she said, 'Pardon me, my dear friend, if I do not answer you fully. Indeed, I would scarcely know how to answer you. I have entered on an experience that is new and strange to me. I am troubled and frightened at myself. I want to go away among strangers, where I can think and grow calm. I want to be alone with my God. I should always be weak and vacillating here. Moreover, Mr. Morton has formed an impression of me, of which, perhaps, I cannot complain. This impression may grow stronger in his mind. It has all been too sudden. His experiences have been too intermingled with storm, delirium, and passion. He has not had time to think any more than I have. In the larger sphere of work to which you say he has been promoted he may find new interests that will be absorbing. After a quiet and distant retrospect he may thank me for the course I am taking.' 'Emily!' I exclaimed, 'for so tender-hearted a girl thee is very strong.' 'No,' she replied, 'but because I have learned my weakness I am going away from temptation.' I then asked, 'Is thee willing I should tell Richard what thee has said?' After thinking for some time she answered, 'Yes, let everything be based on the simple truth. But tell him he must respect my action—he must leave me to myself.' The afternoon before she left us, Adah and Reuben went over to the village and got some beautiful rosebuds, and Adah brought them up after tea. Emily was much touched, and kissed her again and again. Then she threw herself into my arms and cried for nearly an hour, but she went away bravely. I never can think of it with dry eyes. Zillah was heart-broken, and Reuben clung to her in a way that surprised me. He has been very remorseful that he treated her badly at one time. Adah and I were mopping our eyes, and father kept blowing his nose like a trumpet. She gave way a little at the last moment, for Reuben ran down to the barn and brought out Dapple that she might say good-by to him, and she put her arms around the pretty creature's neck and sobbed for a moment or two. I never saw a horse act so. He followed her right up to the rockaway steps. At last she said, 'Come, let us go, quick!' I shall never forget the scene, and I think that she repressed so much feeling that we had to express it for her. She kissed little Adela tenderly, and the child was crying too. It seemed as if we couldn't go on and take up our every-day life again. I wouldn't have believed that one who was a stranger but a short time ago could have gotten such a hold upon our hearts, but as I think it all over I do not wonder. Dear little Zillah reminds me of what I owe to her. She is very womanly, but she is singularly strong. As she was driven away she looked up at thy window, so thee may guess that thee was the last one in her thoughts. Wait, and be patient. Do just as she says."

I am glad that my editorial chief did not see me as I read this letter, for I fear I should have been deposed at once. Its influence on me, however, was very satisfactory to him, for if ever a man was put on his mettle I felt that I had been.

"Very well, Emily Warren," I said, "we have both appealed to the future: let it judge us." I worked and tried to live as if the girl's clear dark eyes were always on me, and her last lingering glance at the window from which I had watched her go to meet the lover that, for my sake, she could not marry, was a ray of steady sunshine. She did not realize how unconsciously she had given me hope.

A few days later I looked carefully over our subscription list. Her paper had been stopped, and I felt this keenly; but as I was staring blankly at the obliterated name a happy thought occurred to me, and I turned to the letter V. With a gleam of deep satisfaction in my eyes I found the address, Mrs. Adelaide Vining, Columbus, Ohio.

"Now through the editorial page I can write to her daily," I thought.

Late in September my chief said to me:

"Look here, Morton, you are pitching into every dragon in the country. I don't mind fighting three or four evils or abuses at a time, but this general onslaught is raising a breeze."

"With your permission, I don't care if it becomes a gale, as long as we are well ballasted with facts."

"Well, to go back to my first figure, be sure you are well armed before you attack. Some of the beasts are old and tough, and have awful stings in their tails. The people seem to like it, though, from the way subscriptions are coming in."

But I wrote chiefly for one reader. He would have opened his eyes if I had told him that a young music-teacher in Columbus, Ohio, had a large share in conducting the journal. Over my desk in my rooms I had had framed, in illuminated text, the words she had spoken to me on the most memorable day of my life:

"The editor has exceptional opportunities, and might be the knight- errant of our age. If in earnest, and on the right side, he can forge a weapon out of public opinion that few evils could resist. He is in just the position to discover these dragons and drive them from their hiding-places."

The spirit that breathed in these words I tried to make mine, for I wished to feel and think as she did. While I maintained my individuality of thought I never touched a question but that I first looked at it from her standpoint. I labored for weeks over an editorial entitled "Truth versus Conscience," and sent it like an arrow into the West.



CHAPTER XIX

ADAH

I heard often from the farmhouse, and learned that Mr. Hearn had gone to Europe almost immediately, but that he had returned in the latter part of September, and had spent a week with his little girl, Mrs. Bradford, his sister, accompanying him. "They seem to think Adela is doing so well," Mrs. Yocomb wrote, "that they have decided to leave her here through October. Adah spends part of every forenoon teaching the little girls." In the latter part of November I received a letter that made my heart beat thick and fast.

"We expect thee to eat thy Thanksgiving dinner with us, and we expect also a friend from the West. I think she will treat thee civilly. At any rate we have a right to invite whom we please. We drew up a petition to Emily, and all signed it. Father added a direful postscript. He said, 'If thee won't come quietly, I will go after thee. Thee thinks I am a man of peace, but there will be commotion and violence in Ohio if thee doesn't come; so, strong-willed as thee is, thee has got to yield for once.' She wrote father the funniest letter in reply, in which she agreed, for the credit of the Society of Friends, not to provoke him to extremities. She doesn't know thee is coming, but I think she knows me well enough to be sure that thee would be invited. Emily writes that she will not return to New York to live, since she can obtain more scholars than she needs at Columbus."

Mrs. Yocomb also added that Adah had left home that day for an extended visit in the city, and she gave me her address.

I had written to Adah more than once, and had made out a programme of what we should do when she came to town.

Quite early in the evening I started out to call upon her, but as I drew near the house I saw that a handsome coupe stood before the door, drawn by two horses, and that the coachman was in livery. My steps were speedily arrested, for the door of the dwelling was opened, and Mr. Hearn came out, accompanied by Adah. They entered the coupe and were driven rapidly toward Fifth Avenue. I gave a long, low whistle, and took two or three turns around the block, muttering, "Gilbert Hearn, but you are shrewd. If you can't have the best thing in the world, you'll have the next best. Come to think of it, she is the best for you. If this comes about for Adah, I could throw my hat over yonder steeple."

I went back to the house, proposing to leave my card, and thus show Adah that I was not inattentive. The interior of the dwelling, like its exterior, was plain, but very substantial and elegant. The servant handed my card to a lady passing through the hall.

"Oh, thee is Richard Morton?" she said. "Cousin Ruth and Adah have told us all about thee. Please come in, for I want to make thy acquaintance. Adah will be so sorry to miss thee. She has gone out for the evening."

"If she will permit me," I said, "I will call to-morrow, on my way downtown, for I wish to see her very much."

"Do so, by all means. Come whenever thee can, and informally. Thee'll always find a welcome here."

Before I was aware I had spent an hour in pleasant chat, for with the Yocombs as mutual friends we had common interests.

Mrs. Winfield, my hostess, had all the elegance of Mrs. Bradford; but there was also a simple, friendly heartiness in her manner that stamped every word she spoke with sincerity. I was greatly pleased, and felt that the wealthy banker and his sister could find no fault with Adah's connections.

She greeted me the next morning like the sister she had become in very truth.

"Oh, Richard!" she exclaimed, "I'm so glad to see thee. Why! thee's so improved I'd hardly know thee. Seems to me thee's grown taller and larger every way."

"I fear I looked rather small sometimes in the country."

"No, Richard, thee never looked small to me; but when I think what I was when thee found me, I don't wonder thee went up to thy room in disgust. I've thought a great deal since that day, and I've read some too."

"If you knew how proud of you I am now, it would turn your head."

"Perhaps it isn't very strong. So thee's going to eat thy Thanksgiving dinner at home. I shall be well out of the way."

"You will never be in my way; but perhaps I might have been in somebody's way had I come earlier last night."

"I thought thee was blind," she said, an exquisite color coming into her beautiful face.

"Never to your interests, Adah. Count on me to the last drop."

"Oh, Richard, thee has been so kind and helpful to me. Thee'll never know all that's in my heart. When I think what I was when I first knew thee, I wonder at it all."

"Adah," I said, taking her hand, "you have become a genuine woman. The expression of your face has changed, and it has become a fine example of the truth, that even beauty follows the law of living growth—from within outward. Higher thoughts, noble principle, and unselfishness are making their impress. After our long separation I see the change distinctly, and I feel it still more. You have won my honest respect, Adah; I predict for you a happy life, and, what is more, you will make others happy. People will be the better for being with you."

"Well, Richard, now that we are brother and sister, I don't mind telling thee that it was thee who woke me up. I was a fool before thee came."

"But the true, sweet woman was in your nature ready to be awakened. Other causes would soon have produced the same effect."

"Possibly; but I don't know anything about other causes. I do know thee, and I trust thee with my whole heart, and I'm going to talk frankly with thee because I want to ask thy advice. Thee knows how near to death I came. I've thought a great deal about it. Having come so near losing life, I began to think what life meant—what it was— and I was soon made to see how petty and silly my former life had been. My heart just overflowed with gratitude toward thee. When thee was so ill I would often lie awake whole nights thinking and trembling lest thee should die. I felt so strangely, so weak and helpless, that I stretched out my hands to thee, and thy strong hands caught and sustained me through that time when I was neither woman nor child. Thee never humiliated me by even a glance. Thee treated me with a respect that I did not deserve, but which I want to deserve. I am not strong, like Emily Warren, but I am trying to do right. Thee changed a blind impulse into an abiding trust and sisterly affection. Thee may think I'm giving thee a strange proof of my trust. I am going to tell thee something that I've not told any one yet. Last evening Gilbert Hearn took me to see his sister, Mrs. Bradford, and I spent the evening with them and little Adela. Coming home he asked me to be his wife. I was not so very greatly surprised, for he spent every First Day in October at our house while Adela was with us, and he was very attentive to me. Father and mother don't like it very much, but I think they are a little prejudiced against him on thy account. I believe thee will tell me the truth about him."

"Adah dear, you have honored me greatly. I will advise you just as I would my own sister. What did you answer him last evening?"

"I told him that I was a simple country girl, and not suited to be his wife. Then he said that he had a right to his own views about that. He said he wanted a genuine wife—one that would love him and his little girl, and not a society woman, who would marry him for his money."

"That is exceedingly sensible."

"Yes, he said he wanted a home, and that he was fond of quiet home life; that I came of a quiet, sincere people, and that he had seen enough of me to know that he could trust me. He said also that I could be both a mother and a companion to Adela, and that the child needed just such a disposition as I had."

I laughed as I said, "Mr. Hearn is sagacity itself. Even Solomon could not act more wisely than he is seeking to act. But what does your heart say to all this, Adah?"

Her color deepened, and she averted her face. "Thee will think I'm dreadfully matter-of-fact, Richard, but I think that perhaps we are suited to each other. I've thought about it a great deal. As I said before, my head isn't very strong. I couldn't understand half the things thee thinks and writes about. I've seen that clearly. He wouldn't expect a wife to understand his business, and he says he wants to forget all about it when be comes home. He says he likes a place full of beauty, repose, and genial light. He likes quiet dinner parties made up of his business friends, and not literary people like thee. We haven't got great, inquiring minds like thee and Emily Warren."

"You are making fun of me now, Adah. I fear Miss Warren has thrown me over in disgust."

"Nonsense, Richard. She loves thy little finger more than I am capable of loving any man. She is strong and intense, and she could go with thee in thought wherever thee pleases. I'm only Adah."

"Yes, you are Adah, and the man who has the reputation of having the best of everything in the city wants you badly, and with good reason. But I want to know what you want."

"I want to know what thee thinks of it. I want thee to tell me about him. Does thee know anything against him?"

"No, Adah. Even when I feared he would disappoint my dearest hope, I told your mother that he was an honorable man. He is exceedingly shrewd in business, but I never heard of his doing anything that was not square. I think he would make you a very kind, considerate husband, and, as he says, you could do so much for his little girl. But, rich as he is, Adah, he is not rich enough for you unless you can truly love him."

"I think I can love him in my quiet way. I think I would be happy in the life I would lead with him. I'm fond of housekeeping, and very fond of pretty things and of the city, as thee knows. Then I could do so much for them all at home. Father and mother are growing old. Father lent money some years ago, and lost it, and he and mother have to work too hard. I could do so much for them and for Zillah, and that would make me happy. But I am so simple, and I know so little, that I fear I can't satisfy him."

"I have no fear on that score. What I am anxious about is, will he satisfy you? You can't realize how bent upon your happiness I am."

"I thank thee, Richard. I was not wrong in coming to thee. Well, I told him that I wanted to think it all over, and I asked him to do the same. He said he had fully made up his mind and that his sister heartily approved of his course, and had advised it. He said that he would wait for me as long as I pleased. Now if thee thinks it's best, thy words would have much influence with father and mother."

I raised her hand to my lips, and said, feelingly: "Adah, I am very grateful for this confidence. I feel more honored that you should have come to me than if I had been made Governor. In view of what you have said, I do think it's best. Mr. Hearn will always be kind and considerate. He will be very proud of you, and you will grow rapidly in those qualities that will adorn your high social position. Do not undervalue yourself. Gilbert Hearn may well thank God for you every day of his life."

I went down to the office in a mood to write an interminable Thanksgiving editorial, for it seemed as if the clouds were all breaking away.



CHAPTER XX

THANKSGIVING DAY

On the day before Thanksgiving one of my associates clapped me on the shoulder, and said, laughing: "Morton, what's the matter? You are as nervous as a girl on her wedding-day. I've spoken to you twice, and you've not answered. Has one of the dragons got the best of you?"

I woke up, and said quietly, "It isn't a dragon this time."

Oh, how vividly that evening comes back to me, as I walked swiftly uptown! It would have been torture to have ridden in a lumbering stage or crawling street-car. I scarcely knew what I thrust into my travelling bag. I had no idea what I ate for dinner, and only remember that I scalded myself slightly with hot coffee. Calling a coupe, I dashed off to a late train that passed through the village nearest to the farmhouse.

It had been arranged that I should come the following morning, and that Reuben should meet me, but I proposed to give them a surprise. I could not wait one moment longer than I must. I had horrible dreams in the stuffy little room at the village inn, but consoled myself with the thought that "dreams go by contraries."

After a breakfast on which mine host cleared two hundred per cent, I secured a light wagon and driver, and started for the world's one Mecca for me. My mind was in a tumult of mingled hope and fear, and I experienced all a young soldier's trepidation when going into his first battle. If she had not come: if she would not listen to me. The cold perspiration would start out on my brow at the very thought. What a mockery Thanksgiving Day would ever become if my hopes were disappointed. Even now I cannot recall that interminable ride without a faint awakening of the old unrest.

When within half a mile of the house I dismissed my driver, and started on at a tremendous pace; but my steps grew slower and slower, and when the turn of the road revealed the dear old place just before me, I leaned against a wall faint and trembling. I marked the spot on which I had stood when the fiery bolt descended, and some white shingles indicated the place on the mossy roof where it had burned its way into the home that even then enshrined my dearest treasures. I saw the window at which Emily Warren had directed the glance that had sustained my hope for months. I looked wistfully at the leafless, flowerless garden, where I had first recognized my Eve. "Will her manner be like the present aspect of that garden?" I groaned. I saw the arbor in which I had made my wretched blunder. I had about broken myself of profanity, but an ugly expression slipped out (I hope the good angel makes allowances for human nature). Recalling the vow I had made in that arbor, I snatched up my valise and did not stop till I had mounted the piazza. Further suspense was unendurable. My approach had been unnoted, nor had I seen any of the family. Noiselessly as possible I opened the door and stood within the hallway. I heard Mrs. Yocomb's voice in the kitchen. Reuben was whistling upstairs, and Zillah singing her doll to sleep in the dining-room. I took these sounds to be good omens. If she had not come there would not have been such cheerfulness.

With silent tread I stole to the parlor door. At my old seat by the window was Emily Warren, writing on a portfolio in her lap. For a second a blur came over my vision, and then I devoured her with my eyes as the famishing would look at food.

Had she changed? Yes, but only to become tenfold more beautiful, for her face now had that indescribable charm which suffering, nobly endured, imparts. I could have knelt to her like a Catholic to his patron saint.

She felt my presence, for she looked up quickly. The portfolio dropped from her lap; she was greatly startled, and instinctively put her hand to her side; still I thought I saw welcome dawning in her eyes; but at this moment Zillah sprang into my arms and half smothered me with kisses. Her cries of delight brought Reuben tearing down the stairs, and Mrs. Yocomb, hastening from the kitchen, left the mark of her floury arm on the collar of my coat as she gave me a motherly salute. Their welcome was so warm, spontaneous, and real that tears came into my eyes, for I felt that I was no longer a lonely man without kindred.

But after a moment or two I broke away from them and turned to Miss Warren, for after all my Thanksgiving Day depended upon her.

She had become very pale, but her eyes were glistening at the honest feeling she had witnessed.

I held out my hand, and asked, in a low voice, "May I stay?"

"I could not send you away from such friends, Mr. Morton," she said gently, "even had I the right," and she held out her hand.

I think I hurt it, for I grasped it as if I were drowning.

Reuben had raced down to the barn to call his father, who now followed him back at a pace that scarcely became his age and Quaker tenets.

"Richard," he called, as soon as he saw me, "welcome home! Thee's been a long time coming, and yet thee's stolen a march on us after all. Reuben was just going for thee. How did thee get here? There's no train so early."

"Oh, I came last night. A ship's cable couldn't hold me the moment I could get away."

"Mother, I think that's quite a compliment to us old people," he began, with the humorous twinkle that I so well remembered in his honest eyes. "Has thee seen Adah?"

"Yes, indeed, and she sent more love than I could carry to you all. She looked just lovely, and I nearly forgot to go down town that morning."

Miss Warren was about to leave the room, but the old gentleman caught her hand and asked:

"Where is thee going, Emily?"

"Pardon me; I thought you would all have much to say to Mr. Morton."

"So we have, to be sure. We won't get half through to-day, but that's no reason for thy leaving us. We are all one family under this roof, thank God, and I'm going to thank Him to-day in good old style and no make-believe;" and he kept her hand as she sat down by him.

"If you knew how homesick I've often been you would realize how much good your words do me," she replied gratefully.

"So thee's been homesick, has thee? Well, thee didn't let us know."

"What good would it have done? I couldn't come before."

"Well, I am kind of glad thee was homesick. The missing wasn't all on our side. Why, Richard, thee never saw such a disconsolate household as we were after Emily left. I even lost my appetite—didn't I, mother?—and that's more than I've done for any lady since Ebenezer Holcomb cut me out of thy company at a picnic—let me see, how many years ago is it, mother?"

"Thee doesn't think I remember such foolishness, I hope," said the old lady; but with a rising color almost pretty as the blush I had seen so recently on Adah's face.

Mr. Yocomb leaned back and laughed. "See mother blush," he cried. "Poor Ebenezer!"

"Thee'll want more than light nonsense for thy dinner by and by, so I must go back to the kitchen."

As she turned away she gave a sweet suggestion of the blushing girl for whom Ebenezer had sighed in vain, and I said emphatically, "Yes, indeed, Mr. Yocomb, you may well say 'Poor Ebenezer!' How in the world did he ever survive it?"

"Thee's very sympathetic, Richard."

Miss Warren looked at him threateningly.

I tried to laugh it off, and said, "Even if he had a millstone for a heart, it must have broken at such a loss."

"Oh, don't thee worry. He's a hale and hearty grandfather to-day."

Miss Warren broke into a laugh that set all my nerves tingling. "Yes," she cried, "I thought it would end in that way."

"Why, Emily, bless thee!" said Mrs. Yocomb, running in, "I haven't heard thee laugh so since thee came."

"She's at her old tricks," said her husband; "laughing at Richard and me."

I found her merriment anything but reassuring, and I muttered under my breath: "Perdition on Ebenezer and his speedy comfort! I hope she don't class me with him."

Very soon Mrs. Yocomb appeared again, and said: "Father, thee must take them all out to drive. I can't do anything straight while I hear you all talking and laughing, for my thoughts are with you. I've put salt into one pie already. A Thanksgiving dinner requires one's whole mind."

"Bustle, bustle, all get ready. Mother's mistress of this house on Thanksgiving Day, if at no other time. We're commanded to obey the 'powers that be,' and if the woman who can get up such a dinner as mother can isn't a 'power,' I'd like to know where we'll find one. I'm very meek and respectful on Thanksgiving morning. Get on thy wraps, Emily. No mutiny before dinner."

She seemed very ready to go, for I think she dreaded being left alone with me. I, too, was glad to gain time, for I was strangely unnerved and apprehensive. She avoided meeting my eyes, and was inscrutable.

In a few moments we were in the family rockaway, bowling over the country at a grand pace.

"Mother's shrewd," said Mr. Yocomb; "she knew that a ride like this in the frosty air would give us an appetite for any kind of a dinner, but it will make hers taste like the Feast of Tabernacles. Let 'em go, Reuben, let 'em go!"

"Do you call this a Quaker pace?" asked Miss Warren, who sat with Zillah on the back seat.

"Yes, I'm acting just as I feel moved. Thee's much too slow for a Friend, Emily. Now I'll wager thee a plum that Richard likes it. Doesn't thee, Richard?"

"Suppose a wheel should come off," I suggested. "I'm awfully nervous to-day. I was sure the train would break down or run off the track last night; then I had horrible dreams at the hotel."

"Why, Mr. Morton!" Miss Warren exclaimed, "what did you eat for supper?"

"Bless me! I don't know. Come to think of it, I didn't have any."

"Did thee have any breakfast?" asked Mr. Yocomb, who seemed greatly amused.

"I believe so. I went through the motions."

"Drive slow, Reuben; Richard's afraid he'll have his neck broken before dinner;" and they all had a great laugh at my expense.

"I've won the plum this time," cried Miss Warren.

"Thee has indeed, and thee deserves it sure enough."

I looked around at her, but could not catch her eyes. My efforts to emulate Mr. Yocomb's spirit were superhuman, but my success was indifferent. I was too anxious, too doubtful concerning the girl who was so gentle and yet so strong. She had far more quietude and self- mastery than I, and with good reason, for she was mistress of the situation. Still, I gathered hope every hour, for I felt that her face would not be so happy, so full of brightness, if she proposed to send me away disappointed, or even put me off on further probation. Nevertheless, my Thanksgiving Day would not truly begin until my hope was confirmed.

Dinner was smoking on the table when we returned, and it was so exceedingly tempting that I enjoyed its aroma with much of Mr. Yocomb's satisfaction, and I sat down at his right, feeling that if one question were settled I would be the most thankful man in the land.

We bowed our heads in grace; but after a moment Mr. Yocomb arose, and with uplifted face repeated words that might have been written for the occasion, so wonderfully adapted to human life is the Book of God.

"'Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless His holy name.

"'Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits: "'Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases;

"'Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with loving kindness and tender mercies.

"'Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.'"

Never was there a grace so full of grace before. If a kind earthly father looks with joy on his happy children, so surely the divine Father must have smiled upon us. In the depths of my heart I respected a faith that was so simple, genuine, and full of sunshine. Truly, it had come from heaven, and not from the dyspeptic creeds of cloistered theologians.

"Father," cried Zillah, "thee looked like my picture of King David."

"Well, I'm in a royal mood," replied her father, "and I don't believe King David ever had half so good a dinner as mother has provided. Such a dinner, Richard, is the result of genius. All the cookbooks in the world couldn't account for it, and I don't believe mother has read one of them."

"Thee must give Cynthia part of the credit," protested his wife.

"She's the woman who says 'Lord a massy,' and insists that I was struck with lightning, isn't she?" and I glanced toward Miss Warren, but she wouldn't meet my eye. Her deepening color told of a busy memory, however. Mr. Yocomb began to laugh so heartily that he dropped his knife and fork on the table and leaned back in his chair quite overcome.

"Father, behave thyself," his wife remonstrated.

At last the old gentleman set to work in good earnest. "Emily," he said, "this is that innocent young gobbler that thee so commiserated. Thee hasn't the heart to eat him, surely."

"I'll take a piece of the breast, if you please."

"Wouldn't thee like his heart?"

"No, I thank you."

"What part would thee like, Richard?"

"Anything but his wings and legs. They would remind me how soon I must go back to awful New York."

"Not before Second Day."

"Yes, sir, to-morrow morning. An editor's play-spells are few and far between."

"Well, Richard, thee thrives on work," said Mrs. Yocomb.

"Yes. I've found it good for me."

"And you have done good work, Mr. Morton," added Miss Warren. "I like your paper far better now."

"But you stopped it."

"Did you find that out?"

"Indeed I did, and very quickly."

"My cousin, Mrs. Vining, took the paper."

"Yes, I know that, too."

"Why, Mr. Morton! do you keep track of all your readers? The circulation of your paper cannot be large."

"I looked after Mrs. Vining carefully, but no further."

"I shall certainly tell her of your interest," she said, with her old mirthful gleam.

"Please do. The people at the office would be agape with wonder if they knew of the influence resulting from Mrs. Vining's name being on the subscription list."

"Not a disastrous influence, I trust?"

"It has occasioned us some hot work. My chief says that nearly all the dragons in the country are stirred up."

"And some of them have been sorely wounded-I've noted that too," said the girl, flushing with pleasure in spite of herself.

"Yes, please tell Mrs. Vining that also. Credit should be given where it's due."

Her laugh now rang out with its old-time genuineness. "Cousin Adelaide would be more agape than the people of your office. I think the dragons owe their tribulations to your disposition to fight them."

"If you could see some words in illuminated text over my desk you would know better."

"Mr. Yocomb, don't you think we are going to have an early winter?" she asked abruptly, with a fine color in her face.

"I don't think it's going to be cold—not very cold, Emily. There are prospects of a thaw to-day;" and the old gentleman leaned back in his chair and shook with suppressed merriment.

"Father, behave thyself. Was there ever such a man!" Mrs. Yocomb exclaimed reproachfully.

"I know you think there never was and never will be, Mrs. Yocomb," I cried, controlling myself with difficulty, for the old gentleman's manner was irresistibly droll and instead of the pallor that used to make my heart ache, Miss Warren's face was like a carnation rose. My hope grew apace, for her threatening looks at Mr. Yocomb contained no trace of pain or deep annoyance, while the embarrassment she could not hide so enhanced her loveliness that it was a heavy cross to withhold my eager eyes. Reuben kindly came to our relief, for he said:

"I tell thee what it is, mother: I feel as if we ought to have Dapple in here with us."

"Emily, wouldn't thee rather have Old Plod?" Mr. Yocomb asked.

"No!" she replied brusquely; and this set her kind tormentor off once more.

But an earnest look soon came into his face, and he said, with eyes moist with feeling:

"Well, this is a time of thanksgiving, and never before in all my life has my heart seemed so full of gladness and gratitude. Richard, I crept in this old home when I was a baby, and I whistled through the house just as Reuben does. In this very room my dear old father trimmed my jacket for me, God bless him! Oh, I deserved it richly; but mother's sorrowful looks cut deeper, I can tell thee. It was to this home I brought the prettiest lass in the county—what am I saying?— the prettiest lass in the world. No offence to thee, Emily; thee wasn't alive then. If every man had such a home as thee has made for me and the children, mother, the millennium would begin before next Thanksgiving. In this house my children were born, and here they have played. I've seen their happy faces in every nook and corner, and with everything I have a dear association. In this home we bade good-by to our dear little Ruth; she's ours still, mother, and she is at home, too, as we are; but everything in this house that our little angel child touched has become sacred to me. Ah, Richard, there are some things in life that thee hasn't learned yet, and all the books couldn't teach thee; but what I have said to thee reveals a little of my love for this old home. How I love those whom God has given me, only He knows. Well, He directed thy random steps to us one day last June, and we welcomed thee as a stranger. But thee has a different welcome to-day, Richard—a very different welcome. Thee doesn't like to hear about it; but we never forget."

"No, Richard, we never forget," Mrs. Yocomb breathed softly.

"Do you think, sir, that I forget the unquestioning hospitality that brought me here? Can you think, Mrs. Yocomb, I ever forget the words you spoke to me in yonder parlor on the evening of my arrival? or that I should have died but for your devoted and merciful care? This day, with its hopes, teaches me how immeasurable would have been my loss, for my prospects then were not bright for either world. Rest assured, dear friends, I have my memories too. The service I rendered you any man would have given, and it was my unspeakable good-fortune to be here. But the favors which I have received have been royal; they are such as I could not receive from others, because others would be incapable of bestowing them."

"You are right, Mr. Morton," Miss Warren began impetuously, her lovely eyes full of tears. "I, too, have received kindnesses that could not come from others, because others would not know how to confer them with your gentleness and mercy, Mrs. Yocomb. Oh! oh! I wish I could make you and your husband know how I thank you. I, too, never forget. But if we talk this way any more, I shall have to make a hasty retreat." "Well, I should say this was a thanksgiving dinner," remarked Reuben sententiously.

Since we couldn't cry, we all laughed, and I thanked the boy for letting us down so cleverly. The deep feeling that memories would evoke in spite of ourselves sank back into the depths of our hearts. The shadow on our faces passed like an April cloud, and the sunshine became all the sweeter and brighter.

"If Adah were only here!" I cried. "I miss her more and more every moment, and the occasion seems wholly incomplete without her."

"Yes, dear child, I miss her too, more than I can tell you," said Mrs. Yocomb, her eyes growing very tender and wistful. "She's thinking of us. Doesn't thee think she has improved? She used to read those magazines thee sent her till I had to take them away and send her to bed."

"I can't tell you how proud I am of Adah. It was like a June day to see her fair sweet face in the city, and it would have had done your hearts good if you could have heard how she spoke of you all."

"Adah is very proud of her big brother, too, I can tell thee. She quotes thy opinions on all occasions."

"The one regret of my visit is that I shall not see her," Miss Warren said earnestly. "Mrs. Yocomb, I have those roses she gave me the day before I left you last summer, and I shall always keep them. I told Cousin Adelaide that they were given to me by the best and most beautiful girl in the world."

"God bless the girl!" ejaculated Mr. Yocomb; "she has become a great comfort and joy to me;" and his wife smiled softly and tenderly.

"Adah is so good to me," cried Zillah, "that if Emily hadn't come I wouldn't have half enjoyed the day."

"What does thee think of that view of the occasion, Richard?" asked Mr. Yocomb.

"Zillah and I always agreed well together," I said; "but I wish Adah knew how much we miss her."

"She shall know," said her mother. "I truly wish we had all of our children with us to-day; for, Richard, we have adopted thee and Emily without asking your consent. I think the lightning fused us all together."

I looked with a quick flash toward Miss Warren, but her eyes were on the mother, and they were full of a daughter's love.

"Dear Mrs. Yocomb," I replied, in a voice not over-steady, "you know that as far as fusing was concerned I was the worst struck of you all, and this day proves that I am no longer without kindred."

But how vain the effort to reproduce the light and shade that filled the quaint, simple room! How vain the attempt to make the myriad ripples of that hour flow and sparkle again, each one of us meanwhile conscious of the depths beneath them!



CHAPTER XXI

RIPPLES ON DEEP WATER

After dinner was over, Reuben cried, "Come, Zillah, I'm going out with Dapple, and I'll give thee a ride that'll settle thy dinner. Emily, thee hasn't petted Dapple to-day. Thee's very forgetful of one of thy best friends."

"Do you know," said Miss Warren to me as we followed the boy, "Reuben sent Dapple's love to me every time he wrote?"

"It's just what Dapple would have done himself if he could. Did you refuse to receive it?"

"No, indeed. Why should I?"

"Oh, I'm not jealous; only I can't help thinking that the horse had greater privileges than I."

She bit her lip, and her color deepened, but instead of answering she tripped away from me toward the barn. Dapple came prancing out, and whinnied as soon as he saw her.

"Oh, he knows thee as well as I do," said Reuben. "He thinks thee's a jolly good girl. Thee's kind of cut me out; but I owe thee no grudge. See how he'll come to thee now," and sure enough, the horse came and put his nose in her hand, where he found a lump of sugar.

"I won't give you fine words only, Dapple," she said, and the beautiful animal's spirited eyes grew mild and gentle as if he understood her perfectly.

"Heaven grant that she gives me more than words!" I muttered.

While Reuben was harnessing Dapple, Miss Warren entered the barn, saying:

"I feel a little remorseful over my treatment of Old Plod, and think I will go and speak to him."

"May I be present at the interview?"

"Certainly."

Either the old horse had grown duller and heavier than ever, or else was offended by her long neglect, for he paid her but little attention, and kept his head down in his manger.

"Dapple would not treat you like that, even if you hadn't a lump of sugar in your hand."

"Dapple is peculiar," she remarked.

"Do you mean a little ill-balanced? He was certainly very precipitate on one occasion."

"Yes, but he had the grace to stop before he did any harm."

"But suppose he couldn't stop? Did Old Plod give you any more advice?"

"Mr. Morton, you must cub your editorial habit of inquiring into everything. Am I a dragon?"

"I fear you more than all the dragons put together."

"Then you are a brave man to stay."

"Not at all. To run away would be worse than death."

"What an awful dilemma you are in! It seems to me, however, the coolest veteran in the land could not have made a better dinner while in such peril."

"I had scarcely eaten anything since yesterday morning. Moreover, I was loyally bound to compliment Mrs. Yocomb's efforts in the only way that would have satisfied her."

"That reminds me that I ought to go and help Mrs. Yocomb clear away the vast debris of such a dinner."

"Miss Warren, I have only this afternoon and evening."

"Truly, Mr. Morton, the pathos in your tones would move a post"

"But will it move you? That's the question that concerns me. Will you take a walk with me?"

"Indeed, I think I must go now, if I would not be thought more insensible than a post. Wait till I put on more wraps, and do you get your overcoat, sir, or you will take cold."

"Yes, I'm awfully afraid I shall be chilled, and the overcoat wouldn't help me. Nevertheless, I'll do your bidding in this, as in all respects."

"What a lamblike frame of mind!" she cried; but her step up the piazza was light and quick.

"She could not so play with me if she meant to be cruel, for she has not a feline trait," I murmured, as I pulled on my ulster. "This genial day has been my ally, and she has not the heart to embitter it. So far from finding 'other interests,' she must have seen that time has intensified the one chief interest of my life. Oh, it would be like death to be sent away again. How beautiful she has become in her renewed health! Her great spiritual eyes make me more conscious of the woman-angel within her than of a flesh-and-blood girl. Human she is indeed, but never of the earth, earthy. Even when I take her hand, now again so plump and pretty, I feel the exquisite thrill of her life within. It's like touching a spirit, were such a thing possible. I crushed her hand this morning, brute that I was! It's been red all day. Well, Heaven speed me now!"

"What! talking to yourself again, Mr. Morton?" asked Miss Warren, suddenly appearing, and looking anything but spirit-like, with her rich color and substantial wraps.

"It's a habit of lonely people," I said.

"The idea of a man being lonely among such crowds as you must meet!"

"I have yet to learn that a crowd makes company."

"Wouldn't you like to ask Mr. Yocomb to go with us?"

"No," I replied, very brusquely.

"I fear your lamblike mood is passing away."

"Not at all. Moreover, I'm a victim of remorse—I hurt your hand this morning."

"Yes, you did."

"I've hurt you a great many times."

"I'm alive, thank you, and have had a good dinner."

"Yes, you are very much alive. Are you very amiable after dinner?"

"No; that's a trait belonging to men alone. I now understand your lamblike mood. But where are you going, Mr. Morton? You are walking at random, and have brought up against the barn."

"Oh, I see. Wouldn't you like to visit Old Plod again?"

"No, I thank you; he has forgotten me."

"By the way, we are friends, are we not, and can be very confidential?"

"If you have any doubt, you had better be prudent and reticent."

"I wish I could find some sweetbrier; I'd give you the whole bush."

"Do you think I deserve a thorny experience?"

"You know what I think. When was there an hour when you did not look through me as if I were glass. But we are confidential friends, are we not?"

"Well, for the sake of argument we may imagine ourselves such."

"To be logical, then, I must tell you something of which I have not yet spoken to any one. I called on Adah the evening I learned she was in town, and I saw her enter an elegant coupe driven by a coachman in stunning livery. A millionaire of your acquaintance accompanied her."

"What!" she exclaimed, her face becoming fairly radiant.

I nodded very significantly.

"For shame, Mr. Morton! What a gossip you are!" but her laugh rang out like a chime of silver bells.

At that moment Mr. Yocomb appeared on the piazza, and he applauded loudly, "Good for thee, Emily," he cried, "that sounds like old times."

"Come away, quick," I said, and I strode rapidly around the barn.

"Do you expect me to keep up with you?" she asked, stopping short and looking so piquant and tempting that I rejoined her instantly.

"I'll go as slow as you please. I'll do anything under heaven you bid me."

"You treat Mr. Yocomb very shabbily."

"You won't make me go after him, will you?"

"Why, Mr. Morton? What base ingratitude and after such a dinner, too."

"You know how ill-balanced I am."

"I fear you are growing worse and worse."

"I am, indeed. Left to myself, I should be the most unbalanced man in the world."

"Mr. Morton, your mind is clearly unsettled. I detected the truth the first day I saw you."

"No, my mind, such as it is, is made up irrevocably and forever. I must tell you that I can't afford to keep a coupe."

"There is a beautiful sequence in your remarks. Then you ought not to keep one. But why complain. There are always omnibuses within call."

"Are you fond of riding in an omnibus?"

"What an irrelevant question! Suppose I followed your example, and ask what you think of the Copernican system?" "You can't be ill-balanced if you try, and your question is not in the least irrelevant. The Copernican system is true, and illustrates my position exactly. There is a heavenly body, radiant with light and beauty, that attracts me irresistibly. The moment I came within her influence my orbit was fixed."

"Isn't your orbit a little eccentric?" she asked, with averted face. "Still your figure may be very apt. Another body of greater attraction would carry you off into space,"

"There is no such body in existence."

"Mr. Morton, we were talking about omnibuses."

"And you have not answered my question."

"Since we are such confidential friends, I will tell you a profound secret. I prefer street cars to omnibuses, and would much rather ride in one than in a carriage that I could not pay for."

"Well, now, that's sensible."

"Yes, quite matter-of-fact. Where are you going, Mr. Morton?"

"Wherever you wish—even to Columbus."

"What! run away from your work and duty? Where is your conscience?"

"Where my heart is."

"Oh, both are in Columbus. I should think it inconvenient to have them so far off."

I tried to look in her eyes, but she turned them away.

"I can prove that my conscience was in Columbus; I consulted you on every question I discussed in the paper."

"Nonsense! you never wrote me a line."

"I was enjoined not to in a way that made my blood run cold. But I thought Mrs. Vining's opinions might be influenced by a member of her family, and I never wrote a line unmindful of that influence."

Again her laugh rang out. "I should call the place where you wrote the Circumlocution Office. Well, to keep up your way of doing things, that member of the family read most critically all you wrote."

"How could you tell my work from that of others?"

"Oh, I could tell every line from your hand as if spoken to me."

"Well, fair critic?"

"Never compliment a critic. It makes them more severe."

"I could do so much better if you were in New York."

"What! Do you expect me to go into the newspaper business?"

"You are in it now—you are guiding me. You are the inspiration of my best work, and you know it."

We had now reached a point where the lane wound through a hemlock grove. My hope was glad and strong, but I resolved at once to remove all shadow of fear, and I shrank from further probation. Therefore I stopped decisively, and said in a voice that faltered not a little:

"Emily, our light words are but ripples that cover depths which in my case reach down through life and beyond it. You are my fate. I knew it the day I first met you. I know it now with absolute conviction."

She turned a little away from me and trembled.

"Do you remember this?" I asked, and I took from my pocketbook the withered York and Lancaster rosebud.

She gave it a dark glance, and her crimson face grew pale.

"Too well," she replied, in a low tone.

I threw it down and ground it under my heel; then, removing my hat, I said:

"I am at your mercy. You are the stronger, and your foot is on my neck."

She turned on me instantly, and her face was aflame with her eager imperious demand to know the truth. Taking both my hands in a tense, strong grasp, she looked into my eyes as if she would read my very soul. "Richard," she said, in a voice that was half entreaty, half command, "in God's name, tell me the truth—the whole truth. Do you respect me at heart? Do you trust me? Can you trust me as Mr. Yocomb trusts his wife?"

"I will make no comparisons," I replied, gently. "Like the widow in the Bible, I give you all I have."

Her tense grasp relaxed, her searching eyes melted into love itself, and I snatched her to my heart.

"What were the millions I lost compared with this dowry!" she murmured. "I knew it—I've known it all day, ever since you crushed my hand. Oh, Richard, your rude touch healed a sore heart."

"Emily," I said, with a low laugh, "that June day was the day of fate after all."

"It was, indeed. I wish I could make you know how gladly I accept mine. Oh, Richard, I nearly killed myself trying not to love you. It was fate, or something better."

"Then suppose we change the figure, and say our match was made in heaven."

I will not attempt to describe that evening at the farmhouse. We were made to feel that it was our own dear home—a safe, quiet haven ever open to us when we wished to escape from the turmoil of the world. I thank God for our friends there, and their unchanging truth.

I accompanied Emily to Columbus, but I went after her again in the spring and for a time she made her home with Mrs. Yocomb.

Adah was married at Mrs. Winfield's large city mansion, for Mr. Hearn had a host of relatives and friends whom he wished present. The farmhouse would not have held a tithe of them, and the banker was so proud of his fair country flower that he seemed to want the whole world to see her.

We were married on the anniversary of the day of our fate, and in the old garden where I first saw my Eve, my truth. She has never tempted me to aught save good deeds and brave work.

THE END