er face from him, and cried bitterly. He forgot
everything but the wish, the longing to comfort her. He put his arm
round her waist, and bent over her. But all he could say, was, "Oh,
Susan, how can I comfort you? Don't take on so--pray don't!" He never
changed the words, but the tone varied every time he spoke. At last she
seemed to regain her power over herself; and she wiped her eyes, and once
more looked upon him with her own quiet, earnest, unfearing gaze.

"Your sister was near the house. She came in on hearing my words to the
doctor. She is asleep now, and your mother is watching her. I wanted to
tell you all myself. Would you like to see your mother?"

"No!" said he. "I would rather see none but thee. Mother told me thou
knew'st all." His eyes were downcast in their shame.

But the holy and pure did not lower or veil her eyes.

She said, "Yes, I know all--all but her sufferings. Think what they must
have been!"

He made answer, low and stern, "She deserved them all; every jot."

"In the eye of God, perhaps she does. He is the Judge; we are not."

"Oh!" she said, with a sudden burst, "Will Leigh! I have thought so well
of you; don't go and make me think you cruel and hard. Goodness is not
goodness unless there is mercy and tenderness with it. There is your
mother, who has been nearly heart-broken, now full of rejoicing over her
child. Think of your mother."

"I do think of her," said he. "I remember the promise I gave her last
night. Thou shouldst give me time. I would do right in time. I never
think it o'er in quiet. But I will do what is right and fitting, never
fear. Thou hast spoken out very plain to me, and misdoubted me, Susan; I
love thee so, that thy words cut me. If I did hang back a bit from
making sudden promises, it was because not even for love of thee, would I
say what I was not feeling; and at first I could not feel all at once as
thou wouldst have me. But I'm not cruel and hard; for if I had been, I
should na' have grieved as I have done."

He made as if he were going away; and indeed he did feel he would rather
think it over in quiet. But Susan, grieved at her incautious words,
which had all the appearance of harshness, went a step or two
nearer--paused--and then, all over blushes, said in a low, soft whisper--

"Oh, Will! I beg your pardon. I am very sorry. Won't you forgive me?"

She who had always drawn back, and been so reserved, said this in the
very