her.

"You keep yerself quiet, Jane. She's dreadful worn out, Sir. There's not
much to tell. Jane had come into town that night to meet him,--gone to
his lodgins--she was so sure he'd come home. She's been waitin' these
ten years,"--in a whisper. "But he didn't come. Nor the next day, nor
any day since. An' the last I saw of him was goin' down the street in
the rain, with the dog followin'. We've been lookin' every way we could,
but I don't know the town much, out of my streets for milk, an' Jane
knows nothin' of it at all, so"--

"It is as I told you!" broke in Miss Defourchet, who had entered,
unperceived, with a blaze of enthusiasm that made Jane start,
bewildered. "He is at work,--some new effort. Madam, you have reason to
thank God for making you the wife of such a man. It makes my blood
glow," turning to her uncle, "to find this dauntless heroism in the rank
and file of the people."

She was sincere in her own heroic sympathy for the rank and file: her
slender form dilated, her eyes flashed, and there was a rich color
mounting to her fine aquiline features.

"I like a man to fight fate to the death as this one,--never to give
up,--to sacrifice life to his idea."

"If thee means the engine by the idea," said Jane, dully, "we've given
up a good deal to it. He has. It don't matter for me."

Miss Defourchet glanced indignantly at the lumbering figure, the big
slow eyes, following her with a puzzled pain in them. For all mischances
or sinister fates in the world she had compassion, except for
one,--stupidity.

"I knew," to Dr. Bowdler, "he would not be content with the decision the
other day. It is his destiny to help the world. And if this woman will
come between him and his work, I hope she may never find him."

Jane put a coarse hand up to her breast as if something hurt her; after
a moment, she said, with her heavy, sad face looking full down on the
young girl,--

"Thee is young yet. It may be God meant my old man to do this work: it
may be not. He knows. Myself, I do not think He keeps the world waitin'
for this air-engine. Others'll be found to do it when it's needed; what
matter if he fails? An' when a man gives up all little works for
himself, an' his child, or--his wife," with a gasp, "for some great
work"--

She stopped.

"It's more likely that the Devil is driving him than God leading," said
the Doctor, hastily.

"Come, Andrew," said Jane, gravely. "We have no time to lose."

She moved to