little anecdotes about the boys; motherly solicitude for
their benefit, and humble asking of advice from one younger and less
experienced than herself; an outpouring of tenderness for her husband,
and of a beautiful and unbroken trust and belief, which failure was
powerless to shake.

"Jack is working like a slave trying to build up the ruins of the old
business. It is difficult, discouraging work, and so far the results
are practically nil, but they will come. Something will come! More and
more I feel the conviction in my heart that all this trouble and
upheaval have been because God has some better thing in store for us
both. We have only to wait and be patient, and the way will open.--I
don't want to be rich, only just to have enough money to live simply and
quietly. We are so rich in each other's companionship that we can
afford to do without luxuries. Last night we had a dinner of herbs--
literally herbs--a vegetarian feast costing about sixpence halfpenny,
but with such lots of love to sweeten it, and afterwards we went out for
a stroll into the Park, and I wore the hat you trimmed, and Jack made
love to me. We _were_ happy! I saw people looking at us with envious
eyes. They thought we were a pair of lovers building castles in the
air, instead of an old married couple with two bouncing boys, having the
workhouse in much nearer proximity than any castle--but they were right
to envy us all the same. We have the best thing!"

The letter dropped on to Margot's knee, and she sat silent, gazing
before her with shining eyes, her face softened into a beautiful
tenderness of expression. For some time she was unconscious that her
companion had returned his own letters to his coat pocket, and was lying
along the ground, his head resting upon his hand, watching her with a
very intent scrutiny; but when at last her eyes were unconsciously drawn
towards him, she spoke at once, as if answering an unspoken question.

"What a wonderful thing love is!"

The Chieftain's light eyebrows were elevated in interrogation.

"In connection with the `dear darling' previously mentioned, if one may
ask?"

"That was my father. I love him dearly, but just now I was thinking of
the other sort of love. This letter is from my eldest sister. She was
a beautiful girl, and could have married half a dozen rich men if she
had wished, but she chose the poorest of them all, a dear, good,
splendid man, who has been persistently unsucces