d strong of body and
mind, but I feel actually old. I suppose you have some sort of faith
still. I have none at all. Dora has it, and it has made her contented,
happy, and useful. I am glad she has it. I wouldn't take it from her.
Tilly--Tilly used to--"

The name was spoken impulsively, as if some subconscious force or habit
had assumed control over a tongue well bridled till now, and with tight
lips John suddenly checked himself and sat flushing under the old man's
kindly stare.

"I was going to mention her," Cavanaugh put in, his honest eyes falling
to the floor, "but didn't know exactly how you'd feel about it. Oh yes,
I still believe in a great Supreme Power that works for eternal good.
Shall I tell you about Tilly?"

John was silent. His face had grown rigid and even pale. His lips
quivered. "I think I know two things about her," he finally said.
"Somehow I feel sure that she is alive and married to Joel Eperson."

Cavanaugh nodded slowly. "Yes, my boy; she finally took him, but it was
not till four years after the report of your death. I see her and Joel
off and on from time to time. It will do no good to open old wounds
now, but I'll say this, John, and that is that your wife's constancy to
your memory, and Joel's faithfulness to her through all her trouble--the
death of her ma and pa, and--and some other things--has given the lie to
every statement ever made that men and women don't actually love each
other. If Tilly had had the slightest hope that you were living she'd
have remained single till the end of time. She never considered that
court edict as right. Oh, I wish I could--could tell you all I know on
that line, but it would do no good now."

"No, we'd better drop it," John said, heavily. "It will do no good to go
over it. I've regarded it as a dead issue for eleven years."

"That may be," Cavanaugh said to himself, "but he is stunned, actually
stunned. I see it in his face and hear it in his voice. Poor boy! Poor
boy!"

"Before dropping the subject I will tell you one thing more," the old
man said, aloud, "and that is that they have two children, a boy of
about six and a little girl of four or five. They are sweet little tots
and are a great comfort. They are images of their mother, and I love
'em."

"Tell me this--tell me this, Sam," John said, and it was as if a great
anxiety rested on him. "I want to know this. Of course, you'll see that
it is no affair of mine, but I'd like to know if Epers