g eyelashes; but when he came to the
postscript she laughed aloud, as a little child laughs at the return of
its mother, for whom it has been hungering. This was the first word she
had had from him, except that he had called to enquire for her, and she
had so longed for something which should assure her that he remembered
her even as she did him. She had no distrust of him, and would as soon
have doubted that the sun would rise again as to have doubted his
sincerity; but she wanted to hear again that he loved her, and now she
had heard it, and, folding her hands upon her breast, she fell into the
most, refreshing sleep she had had since her illness. Could Maude have
talked and seen people, or if she had been less anxious to live, she
would probably have told Jerrie and Nina, and possibly Ann Eliza
Peterkin, of what had passed between herself and Harold, but she had not
seen them; while life, with Harold to love her, looked so bright and
sweet, that if by keeping silence she could prolong it, she would do so
for months, if necessary. To live for Harold was all she wished or
thought about; and often when they hoped she was sleeping, she lay so
still, with her eyes closed and her arms folded upon her breast, just as
if she were praying in her dreams, her father thought. She _was_ praying
for life and length of days, with strength to make Harold as happy as he
ought to be, and was thinking of and planning all she meant to do for
him when once they were married. First to Europe, where she would be so
proud to show him the places she had seen, and where Jerrie would be
with them, for in all her plans Jerrie had almost as prominent a place
as herself.

'I am nothing without Jerrie,' she thought 'She keeps me up, and Jerrie
will live with us, and Mrs. Crawford; that makes four, just enough for a
nice game of whist in long winter evenings, when it is so cold outside
but warm and bright within--always bright for Harold, whose life has
been so full of care and toil. Poor boy! how I pitied his great warm
hand when it was holding mine so lovingly, and how I could have kissed
every seam and scar upon it. But by and by his hands shall be white like
Tom's, though not so soft. I hate a hand which feels like a fluff of
cotton. He shall not live here, for Harold could never get along with
mother and Tom; but we will build a house together, Hally and I, with
Jerrie to help and plan--build one where the cottage stands, or near it,
so Jerrie