ight,--and so her colored
cotton threads danced out of place, and troubled her.

Del Ivory, working beside her, said, "How the mill shakes! What's going
on?"

"It's the new machinery they're h'isting in," observed the overseer,
carelessly. "Great improvement, but heavy, very heavy; they calc'late on
getting it all into place to-day; you'd better be tending to your frame,
Miss Ivory."

As the day wore on, the quiet of Asenath's morning deepened. Round and
round with the pulleys over her head she wound her thoughts of Dick. In
and out with her black and dun-colored threads she spun her future.
Pretty Del, just behind her, was twisting a pattern like a rainbow. She
noticed this, and smiled.

"Never mind!" she thought, "I guess God knows."

Was He ready "to bless her, and show her how"? She wondered. If, indeed,
it were best that she should never be Dick's wife, it seemed to her that
He would help her about it. She had been a coward last night; her blood
leaped in her veins with shame at the memory of it. Did He understand?
Did He not know how she loved Dick, and how hard it was to lose him?

However that might be, she began to feel at rest about herself. A
curious apathy about means and ways and decisions took possession of
her. A bounding sense that a way of escape was provided from all her
troubles, such as she had when her mother died, came upon her.

Years before, an unknown workman in South Boston, casting an iron pillar
upon its core, had suffered it to "float" a little, a very little more,
till the thin, unequal side cooled to the measure of an eighth of an
inch. That man had provided Asenath's way of escape.

She went out at noon with her luncheon, and found a place upon the
stairs, away from the rest, and sat there awhile, with her eyes upon the
river, thinking. She could not help wondering a little, after all, why
God need to have made her so unlike the rest of his fair handiwork. Del
came bounding by, and nodded at her carelessly. Two young Irish girls,
sisters,--the beauties of the mill,--magnificently colored
creatures,--were singing a little love-song together, while they tied on
their hats to go home.

"There _are_ such pretty things in the world!" thought poor Sene.

Did anybody speak to her after the girls were gone? Into her heart these
words fell suddenly, "_He_ hath no form nor comeliness. _His_ visage was
so marred more than any man."

They clung to her fancy all the afternoon. She liked t