ck tells their progress. Faith's little clock--(Mr. Linden
had amused himself with sending her one about as big as a good-sized
watch on a stand)--ticked musically on the table, suggesting a good
many things. Not merely the flight of time--not merely that the train
would soon be in, not merely that she might soon have a letter; nor
even that it, the clock, had seen Mr. Linden since she had. All these
thoughts mingled, but with them something else. They would tick on,
those minutes, relentlessly, no matter what they were to bring or take
away,--steady, unalterable, unchecked,--like the old idea of Fate. She
tried to be steady too--tried to have that fixedness of heart which
says confidently, "I will sing and give praise." But she was weak yet,
with the effect and even the presence of fever, and through all her
thoughts she seemed to feel those minutes tracking with light steps
across her breast. She lay with her hands clasped there, to still them.

The sun began to slant his beams in at the window, and then with one
long screeching "Whew!"--the afternoon train flew through Pattaquasset,
tossing out the letter bag on its way. Then Faith waited--watching
intently for Reuben's step on the stairs.

Reuben on his part had watched the letter-bag from the moment it was
thrown out, had followed it to the office, and there posted himself
near the window to have the first chance. But his prize was a blank.

Sick at heart, Reuben drew back a little, giving way before Mintie's
rather sharp "I tell you no, Mr. Taylor," and other people's earnest
pressing forward to the window. But when the last one had gone--those
happy people, who had got their letters!--Reuben again presented
himself, and braved Mintie's displeasure by further inquiries; which
produced nothing but an increase of the displeasure. He turned and
walked slowly away. It might have been any weather--he might have met
anybody or heard anything; but when Reuben reached Mrs. Derrick's the
whole walk was a blank to him. What was the matter--how would Miss
Faith bear it--these two questions lay on his heart. In vain he tried
to lay them down,--for the very words which told him that "the Lord
doth not afflict willingly," said also that he doth afflict; and
Reuben's heart sank. He stood for a moment in the porch, realizing "how
people live who do pray"--then went in and straight upstairs, walked up
to Faith's couch when admitted, and without giving himself much time to
think,