ficance, not
only to his journey, but to all his plans. Not a woman had been seen on
the street during the day whom Jim had not scanned with an anxious and
greedy look, in the hope of seeing the one figure that was the desire of
his eyes--but he had not seen it. Was she ill? Had she left Sevenoaks?
He would not inquire, but he would know before he slept.

"There's a little business as must be did afore I go," said Jim, to Mr.
Benedict in the evening, "an' I sh'd like to have ye go with me, if ye
feel up to't." Mr. Benedict felt up to it, and the two went out
together. They walked along the silent street, and saw the great mill,
ablaze with light. The mist from the falls showed white in the frosty
air, and, without saying a word, they crossed the bridge, and climbed a
hill dotted with little dwellings.

Jim's heart was in his mouth, for his fears that ill had happened to the
little tailoress had made him nervous; and when, at length, he caught
sight of the light in her window, he grasped Mr. Benedict by the arm
almost fiercely, and exclaimed:

"It's all right. The little woman's in, an' waitin'. Can you see my
har?"

Having been assured that it was in a presentable condition, Jim walked
boldly up to the door and knocked. Having been admitted by the same girl
who had received him before, there was no need to announce his name.
Both men went into the little parlor of the house, and the girl in great
glee ran upstairs to inform Miss Butterworth that there were two men and
a dog in waiting, who wished to see her. Miss Butterworth came down from
busy work, like one in a hurry, and was met by Jim with extended hand,
and the gladdest smile that ever illuminated a human face.

"How fare ye, little woman?" said he. "I'm glad to see ye--gladder nor I
can tell ye."

There was something in the greeting so hearty, so warm and tender and
full of faith, that Miss Butterworth was touched. Up to that moment he
had made no impression upon her heart, and, quite to her surprise, she
found that she was glad to see him. She had had a world of trouble since
she had met Jim, and the great, wholesome nature, fresh from the woods,
and untouched by the trials of those with whom she was in daily
association, was like a breeze in the feverish summer, fresh from the
mountains. She was, indeed, glad to see him, and surprised by the warmth
of the sentiment that sprang within her heart in response to his
greeting.

Miss Butterworth looked inqui