rebellious kingdom. "Thirty-seven years old! Hetty Gunn, you 're a
goose," were Hetty's last thoughts as she fell asleep that night. But
when she awoke the next morning, the same refrain, "Why not, why not?"
filled her thoughts; and, when she bade Dr. Eben good-morning, the rosy
color that mounted to her very temples gave him a new happiness.

Why prolong the story of the next few days? They were just such days as
every man and every woman who has loved has lived through, and knows
far better than can be said or sung. Love's beginnings are varied, and
his final crises of avowal take individual shape in each individual
instance: but his processes and symptoms of growth are alike in all
cases; the indefinable delight,--the dreamy wondering joy,--the half
avoidance which really means seeking,--the seeking which shelters itself
under endless pleas,--the ceaseless questioning of faces,--the mute
caresses of looks, and the eloquent caresses of tones,--are they not
written in the books of the chronicles of all lovers? What matter how or
when the crowning moment of full surrender comes? It came to Eben and
Hetty, however, more suddenly at last than it often comes; came in a way
so characteristic of them both, that perhaps to tell it may not be a
sin, since we aim at a complete setting forth of their characters.

VIII.

For three days little Raby had been so ill that the doctor had not left
the house day nor night, except for imperative calls from other
patients. Each night the paroxysms of croup returned with great
severity, and the little fellow's strength seemed fast giving way under
them. Sally and Hetty, his two mothers, were very differently affected
by the grief they bore in common. Sally was speechless, calm, almost
dogged in her silence. When Dr. Eben trying to comfort her, said:

"Don't feel so, Mrs. Little: I think we shall pull the boy through all
right." She looked up in his face, and shook her head, speaking no word.
"I am not saying it merely to comfort you; indeed, I am not, Mrs.
Little," said the doctor. "I really believe he will get well. These
attacks of croup seem much worse than they really are."

"I don't know that it comforts me," replied Sally, speaking very
slowly. "I don't know that I want him to live; but I think perhaps he
might be allowed to die easier, if I didn't need so much punishing. It
is worse than death to see him suffer so."

"Oh, Mrs. Little! how can you think thus of God?" ex