hem to sleep in her arms. John, your mother
would mother any miserable neglected child. She made me cry. My anger
melted away this afternoon as I watched her. I forgave her everything."

"O my darling! My darling Jane!"

"I wanted to kiss her, and tell her so."

After this confession it seemed easier for John to tell his wife that he
must close the mill in the morning. They were sitting together on the
hearth. Dinner was over and the room was very still. John was smoking a
cigar whose odor Jane liked, and her head leaned against his shoulder,
and now and then they said a low, loving word, and now and then he
kissed her.

"John," she said finally, "I had a letter from Aunt Harlow today. She is
in trouble."

"I am sorry for it."

"Her only child has been killed in a skirmish with the Afghans--killed
in a lonely pass of the mountains and buried there. It happened a little
while since and his comrades had forgotten where his grave was. The man
who slew him, pointed it out. He had been buried in his uniform, and my
uncle received his ring and purse and a scarf-pin he bought for a
parting present the day he sailed for India."

"I do not recollect. I never saw him, I am sure."

"Oh, no! He went with his regiment to Simla seventeen years ago. Then he
married a Begum or Indian princess or something unusual. She was very
rich but also very dark, and Uncle would not forgive him for it. After
the marriage his name was never mentioned in Harlow House, but he was
not forgotten and his mother never ceased to love him. When they heard
of his death, Uncle sent the proper people to make investigations
because of the succession, you know."

"I suppose now the nephew, Edwin Harlow, will be heir to the title and
estate?"

"Yes, and Uncle and Aunt so heartily dislike him. Uncle has spent so
many, many years in economizing and restoring the fortune of the House
of Harlow, and now it will all go to--Edwin Harlow. I am sorry to
trouble you with this bad news, when you have so much anxiety of your
own."

"Listen, dearest--I must--shut--the mill--tomorrow--some time."

"O John!"

"There is no more cotton to be got--and if there was, I have not the
money to buy it. Would you like to go to London and see your uncle and
aunt? A change might do you good."

"Do you think I would leave you alone in your sorrow? No, no, John! The
only place for me is here at your side. I should be miserable anywhere
else."

John was much moved at th