sly, even a little angrily,
under the positive stamp of his foot as he began to take his own share
in the circumstance. "I could have gone with Jane--I did not want to
go--I don't like Thirsk--I do not want his hospitality. How could I
feast and dance when I know some of my men must be out of work and out
of bread in a few weeks--Jane does not feel as I do--Mother does not
either--I cannot expect it--but I know!--I know!--I took my own wish and
way, and I have no right to complain--I must be just and fair--just and
fair to all--to all;" and with this decision, he slept well, courting
sleep consciously, because he knew that the times were too full of
anxiety to lose the rest so needful in unhappy and doubtful brooding.

In the morning a thing quite unlooked-for occurred. When John went into
the breakfast-room Jane was there to receive him. "O John!" she cried,
"I am delighted that I caught you napping. I left Thirsk at seven
o'clock. Are you not glad to see me?"

"Glad!" He could not find words to express his gladness, but his silent
kisses spoke for him and his beaming eyes and the warm clasp of his
strong hand. And his coffee was not coffee, it was some heavenly nectar,
and his bread was more than the staff of life, it was the bread of
love. She brought her chair close to his side, she said _that_ was the
place of honor. She fed his heart with soft, beaming glances, and she
amused him with laughable descriptions of her partners. "After you,
John," she said with a pretty seriousness, "after you, John, all other
men look so small!" And what man wholly devoted to his wife, would not
have been intoxicated with the rapture of a love so near and yet so far
from understanding him?

CHAPTER XI

JANE RECEIVES A LESSON

"There are times in life when circumstances decide for us; it is then
the part of wisdom to accept and make the best of what they offer."

Of course Harry would have felt it intolerable to come home just like
his neighbors. So he returned to the Hatton district as if he had
condescended to accept some pressing invitation to do so. It was,
however, almost the last exhibition of his overweening youthful egotism.
His mother's best carriage was at the station for Mrs. Henry Hatton and
family; his mother's gigs and wagons there for his servants and baggage.
Two or three of the village societies to which he had belonged or did
yet belong crowded the railway platform. They cheered him when he
alighted, an