ou are." Then, as Hugh laughed and kissed her, she said
in a very low voice, "Do you really mean that you can be content with
me, Hugh; that I shall not disappoint you any more?"

"Content," he answered, fondly, "that is a poor word. Have I ever
really deserved you, sweetheart; but I mean to make up for that. You
are very generous, Fay; you do not speak of Margaret--ah, I thought
so," as her head drooped against his shoulder--"she is in your mind,
but you will not venture to speak of her."

"I am so afraid you must regret her, Hugh."

And Hugh, with a shade of sadness on his fine face, answered, slowly:

"If I regret her, it is as I regret my lost youth. She belongs to my
old life; now I only reverence and cherish her memory. Darling, we
must understand each other very clearly on this point, for all our
unhappiness springs from that. We must have no secrets, no
reservations in our future life; you must never fear to speak to me of
Margaret. She was very dear to me once, and in some sense she is dear
to me still, but not now, thank God, so precious in my eyes as the
wife He has given me." Then, as she put her arms round his neck and
thanked him with innocent, wifely kisses, he suddenly pressed her to
him passionately, and asked her to forgive him, for he could never
forgive himself.

Then, as the evening shadows crept into the green nest, Fay proposed
timidly that they should go back to the Manse, for she wanted to show
Hugh their boy; and Hugh consented at once. And hand in hand they went
through the tangled underwood and past the shimmering falls; and as
Hugh looked down on his little wife and saw the new sweet womanliness
that had grown on her with her motherhood, and the meek purity of her
fair young face, he felt a proud happiness thrilling within him, and
knew that it was God-given, and that its blessing would last him
throughout his whole life.

CHAPTER XLII.

KNITTING UP THE THREADS.

Day unto day her dainty hands
Make life's soil'd temples clean,
And there's a wake of glory where
Her spirit pure hath been.
At midnight through that shadow land
Her living face doth gleam,
The dying kiss her shadow, and
The dead smile in her dream.

GERALD MASSEY.

A little later, Jean, honest woman, suffered an electric shock. She
was brushing out baby Hugh's curls, that had been disordered by the
walk, when she thought she heard Mrs. St. C