because she was unwilling to confide
entirely in Aunt Martha, but there was something she did not wish to
say to herself. Yet suddenly, as if lifted upon a calm, irresistible
purpose--as a leaf is lifted upon the long swell of the sea--she said,
with her heart as quiet as her eyes,

"I do not think Lawrence Newt loves me."

The next moment the poor leaf is lost in the trough of the sea. The next
moment Amy Waring's heart beat tumultuously; she felt as if she should
fall from her seat. Her eyes were blind with hot tears. Aunt Martha did
not look up--did not start or exclaim--but deliberately threaded her
needle carefully, and creased her work with her thumb-nail. After a
little while, during which the sea was calming itself, she said, slowly,
repeating Amy's words syllable by syllable,

"You do not believe Lawrence Newt loves you?"

"No," was the low, firm whisper of reply.

"Whom do you think he loves?"

There was an instant of almost deathly stillness in that turbulent heart.
For a moment the very sea of feeling seemed to be frozen.

Then, and very slowly, a terrible doubt arose in Amy Waring's mind.
Before this conversation every perplexity had resolved itself in the
consciousness that somehow it must all come right by-and-by. It had never
occurred to her to ask, Does he love any one else? But she saw now at
once that if he did, then the meaning of his words was plain enough;
and so, of course, he did.

Who was it?

Amy knew there was but one person in the world whose name could possibly
answer that question.

But had Lawrence not watched with her--and with delight--the progress of
Arthur Merlin's feeling for that other?

Yes; but if, as he watched so closely, he saw and felt how lovely that
other was, was it so wonderful that he should love her?

These things flashed through her mind as she sat motionless by Aunt
Martha; and she said, with profound tranquillity,

"Very possibly, Hope Wayne."

Aunt Martha did not look up. She seemed to feel that she should see
something too sad if she did so; but she asked,

"Is she worthy of him?"

"Perfectly!" answered Amy, promptly.

At this word Aunt Martha did look up, and her eyes met Amy's. Amy Waring
burst into tears. Her aunt laid aside her work, and gently put her arms
about her niece. She waited until the first gush of feeling had passed,
and then said, tenderly,

"Amy, it is by the heart that God leads us women to himself. Through love
I fell; but t