ier,
as they resumed the corner seats by the door.

"It certainly is!" replied the Doctor, and averted his face. For when
the group and he were nearest together and the moon shone brightly
upon the four, he saw, beyond all question, that the older man was his
visitor of a few evenings before and that the younger pair were John and
Mary Richling.

CHAPTER XII.

"SHE'S ALL THE WORLD."

Excellent neighborhood, St. Mary street, and Prytania was even better.
Everybody was very retired though, it seemed. Almost every house
standing in the midst of its shady garden,--sunny gardens are a newer
fashion of the town,--a bell-knob on the gate-post, and the gate locked.
But the Richlings cared nothing for this; not even what they should have
cared. Nor was there any unpleasantness in another fact.

"Do you let this window stand wide this way when you are at work here,
all day?" asked the husband. The opening alluded to was on Prytania
street, and looked across the way to where the asylumed widows of "St
Anna's" could glance down into it over their poor little window-gardens.

"Why, yes, dear!" Mary looked up from her little cane rocker with that
thoughtful contraction at the outer corners of her eyes and that
illuminated smile that between them made half her beauty. And then,
somewhat more gravely and persuasively: "Don't you suppose they like it?
They must like it. I think we can do that much for them. Would you
rather I'd shut it?"

For answer John laid his hand on her head and gazed into her eyes.

"Take care," she whispered; "they'll see you."

He let his arm drop in amused despair.

"Why, what's the window open for? And, anyhow, they're all abed and
asleep these two hours."

They did like it, those aged widows. It fed their hearts' hunger to
see the pretty unknown passing and repassing that open window in the
performance of her morning duties, or sitting down near it with her
needle, still crooning her soft morning song,--poor, almost as poor as
they, in this world's glitter; but rich in hope and courage, and rich
beyond all count in the content of one who finds herself queen of ever
so little a house, where love is.

"Love is enough!" said the widows.

And certainly she made it seem so. The open window brought, now and
then, a moisture to the aged eyes, yet they liked it open.

But, without warning one day, there was a change. It was the day after
Dr. Sevier had noticed that queer street quarrel. The