re so much languished in the
need of it, not knowing, even, the privation. The old, trodden,
half-cleansed door-mat in her hands,--the just-created beauty in
his. He stopped, and divided his handful.

"Here, Miss Bree,--you would like a piece of the country, I imagine,
this morning! I couldn't have come in without it."

The voice rang blithe and bright into the room where Bel sat,
basting machine work; the eyes went after the voice.

The light from the east window was full upon the shining hair, the
young, unworn outlines, the fresh, pure color of the skin. Few city
beauties could bear such morning light as that. Nothing but the
morning in the face can meet it.

Morris Hewland lifted his hat, and bowed toward the young girl,
silently. Then he passed on, up to his room. Bel heard his step,
back and forth, overhead.

The tuberoses were put into a clear, plain tumbler. Bel would not
have them in the broken vase; she would not have them in a _blue_
vase, at all. She laid a white napkin over the red of the
tablecloth, and set them on it. The perfume rose from them and
spread all through the room.

"I am so glad we have work at home to-day," said Bel.

There had been nothing but little things like these; out into Bel's
head, as she and Aunt Blin carried home the tea-blush silk, and laid
it by with care in its white box upon the sofa-end, came that little
wish, with a spring and a heart-beat,--"If she might have it on for
a minute, and if in that minute he might happen to come by!"

She did not think she was planning for it; but when on the Tuesday
evening the step went down the stairs at eight o'clock, while they
sat busily working, each at a sleeve, by the drop-light over the
white-covered table, a little involuntary calculation ran through
her thoughts.

"He always comes back by eleven. We shall have two hours' work--or
more,--on this, if we don't hurry; and it's miserable to hurry!"

They stitched on, comfortably enough; yet the sleeves were finished
sooner than she expected. Before nine o'clock, Aunt Blin was sewing
them in. Then Bel wanted a drink of water; then they could not both
get at the waist together; there was no need.

"I'll do it," said Bel, out of her conscience, with a jump of fright
as she said it, lest Aunt Blin should take her at her word, and
begin gauging and plaiting the skirt.

"No, you rest. I shall want you by and by, for a figure."

"May I have it _all_ on?" says Bel eagerly. "Do, A