hat you will of it, with other men
she was strong, womanly, serene; with me, she had the sweet grace to
show weakness.

The carriage bounded over the paving-stones and stopped at my hotel.
The driver lifted his hat obsequiously. I, with sardonic smile,
entered the hotel, where I was not unknown. No doubt was made as to
the character of my apartments.

I rested sumptuously, but could not sleep.

"How was he now, who lay stricken yonder? Had he known her, or would
those rare blue eyes be lifted to her too, unrecognizing, and so break
her heart?"

Eyes once seen, to haunt one, the handsomest in form and color and
expression that I had ever seen in human head.

Now I saw them again, as I had first seen them at the meeting in the
Basin school-house; the firm, brown hand grasping the sailor's bonnet;
eyes omnipotent with health and joy, casting their mischievous,
beautiful glances over toward Vesty--she, patient, struggling, with her
holy look!

And the Basin wind blew in through the cracked windows, and a bird flew
upward:

"Softly through the storm of life,
Clear above the whirlwind's cry"--

It all resolved itself into that at last; the human voice crying
upward, shivering, like the bird's flight; but with sure aim now!

I saw how it was at the first look at Vesty's face, when I called the
next morning.

Notely, waking once, had not known her among the group of doctors and
attendants; only stared at her as one of them, kindly, vaguely.

But, for the most part, he slept in weary bliss. Once, later, they
thought her face had awakened some old memory.

"The school-house--is growing--dark," he murmured, in indistinct,
half-recovered speech, then fell off again into his soundless slumbers.

The doctors knew. I knew. The mother read no hope.

"He has so much to leave," she sobbed, turning ever to Vesty, who, numb
with sorrow, yet tried to comfort her.

So much to leave!--but who knows ever to how much going! Not so Mrs.
Garrison. The bright way ended at this pass, in blank darkness.

And Notely slept on, wearied, heedless; soft, luxurious trappings of
life all about him; his reconciled young wife; his hope now of an heir
for his name and fortune; the work he had struggled at last so
unrestingly to do; and the dear, lost love of his youth, Vesty, bending
over him.

Leaving them, not able to be heedful, so deep-wrapped in unknown
dreams. Waking once more and turning from them vaguely (ah, the