she took up her work and tried
to sew, but she was as pale as death and trembling all over at the same
time that every nerve was acute with attention to catch every word that
might fall from the lips of Herbert.

"Well," recommenced the young sailor, "I was just saying that when I
mentioned you and Traverse to my uncle, and told him how kind and
disinterested you had been to me--you being like a mother and Traverse
like a brother--he was really moved almost to tears. Yes, I declare I
saw the raindrops glittering in his tempestuous old orbs as he walked
the floor muttering to himself, 'Poor women--good, excellent woman.'"

While Herbert spoke the widow dropped her work without seeming to know
that she had done so; her fingers twitched so nervously that she had to
hold both hands clasped together, and her eyes were fixed in intense
anxiety upon the face of the youth as she repeated:

"Go on--oh, go on. What more did he say when you talked of us?"

"He said everything that was kind and good. He said that he could not do
too much to compensate you for the past."

"Oh, did he say that?" exclaimed the widow, breathlessly.

"Yes, and a great deal more--that all that he could do for you or your
son was but a sacred debt he owed you."

"Oh, he acknowledged it--he acknowledged it! Thank Heaven! oh, thank
Heaven! Go on, Herbert; go on."

"He said that he would in future take the whole charge of the boy's
advancement in life, and that he would place you above want forever:
that he would, in fact, compensate for the past by doing you and yours
full justice."

"Thank Heaven! oh, thank Heaven!" exclaimed the widow, no longer
concealing her agitation, but throwing down her work, and starting up
and pacing the floor in excess of joy.

"Mother," said Traverse, uneasily, going to her and taking her hand,
"mother, what is the meaning of all this? Do come and sit down."

She immediately turned and walked back to the fire, and, resting her
hands upon the back of the chair, bent upon them a face radiant with
youthful beauty. Her cheeks were brightly flushed, her eyes were
sparkling with light, her whole countenance resplendent with joy--she
scarcely seemed twenty years of age.

"Mother, tell us what it is," pleaded Traverse, who feared for her
sanity.

"Oh, boys, I am so happy! At last! at last! after eighteen years of
patient 'hoping against hope!' I shall go mad with joy!"

"Mother," said Herbert, softly.

"Children, I am