could do but a bit at a time, the letters were written. Exercises had
to be excused. And Faith was at heart very thankful when at the end of
a sick week, she was able to get up and be dressed and sit in the
easy-chair and see the diamonds sparkling against her brown wrapper
again.

It was April now, and a soft springy day. A fire burned gently in the
chimney, while a window open at a little distance let in Spring's
whispers and fragrances; and the plain old-fashioned room looked cosy
and pretty, as some rooms will look under undefinable influences.
Nothing could be plainer. There was not even the quaint elegance of Mr.
Linden's room; this one was wainscotted with light blue and
whitewashed, and furnished with the simplest of chintz furniture. But
its simplicity and purity were all in tone with the Spring air and the
cheer of the wood fire; and not at all a bad setting for the figure
that sat there in the great chintz chair before the fire; her soft hair
in bright order, the quiet brown folds of the wrapper enveloping her,
and the flash of the diamonds giving curious point and effect to the
whole picture. Faith was alone and looking very happy.

It wanted but a few weeks now of Mr. Linden's coming home,--coming home
for a longer rest and sight of her; and Faith had not seen him since
January. Mrs. Stoutenburgh's illness and Faith's consequent fatigue had
in part accounted to him for the short letters and missing French
exercises, but she could see that such excuse would not long be made
for her,--his last one or two letters had been more anxious, more
special in their inquiries: how glad she was that he need have no
further cause for either. Partly musing on all this, partly on what she
had been reading, Faith sat that afternoon, when the well-known single
soft knock at her door announced Reuben Taylor. He came in with a glad
face--how sad it had lately been Faith had seen, sick as she was,--and
with both hands full of pleasant things. One hand was literally full,
of cowslips; and as he came up and gave her his other hand, it seemed
to Faith as if a great spot of Spring gold was before her eyes.

"Dear Miss Faith," Reuben said, "I wonder if anybody can ever be
thankful enough, to see you better! You feel stronger than yesterday,
don't you, ma'am?"

"_I_ can't be thankful enough, Reuben--I feel that to-day. How good you
are to bring me those cowslips! O yes,--I am stronger than I was
yesterday."

That Faith was not