that had given out fragments
from which his mother could piece out the story of his love; that, at
the crisis, when his mother was about to go to the girl, Judith had come
of her own accord to his bedside. He did not know her, but he grew
quiet at once when the girl put her hand on his forehead.

Now Crittenden was looking out on the sward, green with the curious
autumn-spring that comes in that Bluegrass land: a second spring that
came every year to nature, and was coming this year to him. And in his
mood for field and sky was the old, dreamy mistiness of pure
delight--spiritual--that he had not known for many years. It was the
spirit of his youth come back--that distant youth when the world was
without a shadow; when his own soul had no tarnish of evil; when passion
was unconscious and pure; when his boyish reverence was the only feeling
he knew toward every woman. And lying thus, as the sun sank and the
shadows stole slowly across the warm bands of sunlight, and the
meadow-lark called good-night from the meadows, whence the cows were
coming homeward and the sheep were still browsing--out of the quiet and
peace and stillness and purity and sweetness of it all came his last
vision--the vision of a boy with a fresh, open face and no shadow across
the mirror of his clear eyes. It looked like Basil, but it was "the
little brother" of himself coming back at last--coming with a glad,
welcoming smile. The little man was running swiftly across the fields
toward him. He had floated lightly over the fence, and was making
straight across the yard for his window; and there he rose and floated
in, and with a boy's trustfulness put his small, chubby hand in the big
brother's, and Crittenden felt the little fellow's cheek close to his as
he slept on, his lashes wet with tears.

The mother opened the door; a tall figure slipped gently in; the door
was closed softly after it again, and Judith was alone; for Crittenden
still lay with his eyes closed, and the girl's face whitened with pity
and flamed slowly as she slowly slipped forward and stood looking down
at him. As she knelt down beside him, something that she held in her
hand clanked softly against the bed and Crittenden opened his eyes.

"Mother!"

There was no answer. Judith had buried her face in her hands. A sob
reached his ears and he turned quickly.

"Judith," he said; "Judith," he repeated, with a quick breath. "Why, my
God, you! Why--you--you've come to see me! you, a