cy the more.

As they walked through the doctor's study, Mrs. Cavendish preceding
them, Jane lingered for a moment and gave a hurried glance about her.
There stood his chair and his lounge where he had thrown himself so
often when tired out. There, too, was the closet where he hung his coat
and hat, and the desk covered with books and papers. A certain feeling
of reverence not unmixed with curiosity took possession of her, as when
one enters a sanctuary in the absence of the priest. For an instant she
passed her hand gently over the leather back of the chair where his
head rested, smoothing it with her fingers. Then her eyes wandered over
the room, noting each appointment in detail. Suddenly a sense of
injustice rose in her mind as she thought that nothing of beauty had
ever been added to these plain surroundings; even the plants in the
boxes by the windows looked half faded. With a quick glance at the open
door she slipped a rose from the bunch in her hand, leaned over, and
with the feeling of a devotee laying an offering on the altar, placed
the flower hurried on the doctor's slate. Then she joined Mrs.
Cavendish.

Lucy walked slowly from the gate, her eyes every now and then turned to
the sea. When she and Jane had reached the cross-road that branched off
toward the beach--it ran within sight of Mrs. Cavendish's windows--Lucy
said:

"The afternoon is so lovely I'm not going to pay any more visits,
sister. Suppose I go to the beach and give Meg a bath. You won't mind,
will you? Come, Meg!"

"Oh, how happy you will make him!" cried Jane. "But you are not dressed
warm enough, dearie. You know how cool it gets toward evening. Here,
take my cloak. Perhaps I'd better go with you--"

"No, do you keep on home. I want to see if the little wretch will be
contented with me alone. Good-by," and without giving her sister time
to protest, she called to Meg, and with a wave of her hand, the red
cloak flying from her shoulders, ran toward the beach, Meg bounding
after her.

Jane waved back in answer, and kept her eyes on the graceful figure
skipping along the road, her head and shoulders in silhouette against
the blue sea, her white skirts brushing the yellow grass of the
sand-dune. All the mother-love in her heart welled up in her breast.
She was so proud of her, so much in love with her, so thankful for her!
All these foolish love affairs and girl fancies would soon be over and
Bart and the others like him out of Lucy's mi