--

"Oh, Mrs. Philbrick! Mrs. Philbrick! do not walk so fast. I am trying to
overtake you."

Feeling as guilty as a child detected in some forbidden spot, Mercy stood
still, vainly hoping her black veil was thick enough to hide her red eyes;
vainly trying to regain her composure enough to speak in her natural
voice, and smile her usual smile. Vainly, indeed! What crape could blind a
lover's eyes, or what forced tone deceive a lover's ears?

At his first sight of her face, Stephen started; at the first sound of her
voice, he stood still, and exclaimed,--

"Mrs. Philbrick, you have been crying!" There was no gainsaying it, even
if Mercy had not been too honest to make the attempt. She looked up
mischievously at him, and tried to say lightly,--

"What then, Mr. White? Didn't you know all women cried?"

The voice was too tremulous. Stephen could not bear it. Forgetting that
they were on a public street, forgetting every thing but that Mercy was
crying, he exclaimed,--

"Mercy, what is it? Do let me help you! Can't I?"

She did not even observe that he called her "Mercy." It seemed only
natural. Without realizing the full meaning of her words, she said,--

"Oh, you have helped me now," and threw up her veil, showing a face where
smiles were already triumphant. Instinct told Stephen in the same second
what she had meant, and yet had not meant to say. He dropped her hand, and
said in a low voice,--

"Mercy, did you really have tears in your eyes because I did not come?
Bless you, darling! I don't dare to speak to you here. Oh, pray come down
this little by-street with me."

It was a narrow little lane behind the Brick Row into which Stephen and
Mercy turned. Although it was so near the centre of the town, it had never
been properly graded, but had been left like a wild bit of uneven field.
One side of it was walled by the Brick Row; on the other side were only a
few poverty-stricken houses, in which colored people lived. The snow lay
piled in drifts here all winter, and in spring it was an almost impassable
slough of mud. There was now no trodden path, only the track made by
sleighs in the middle of the lane. Into this strode Stephen, in his
excitement walking so fast that Mercy could hardly keep up with him. They
were too much absorbed in their own sensations and in each other to
realize the oddity of their appearance, floundering in the deep snow,
looking eagerly in each other's faces, and talking in a breathless