e to come back here and see the old place
and all of us, but he is afraid it will upset Tilly. You said you
thought he still loves her-- I _know_ he does. I can see it all through
that letter, and I'm sorry for him, poor fellow!"

"Oh, I see what you mean," Cavanaugh said, in a mollified tone, "and I
believe you are right, too. He was thinking of her happiness when he ran
away, and he is doing it now. Yes, yes, he still loves her. I saw it in
a hundred ways when me and him was together up there. He never had room
for but one woman in his heart, and she fills it still. She is the
drawback in the case, I'll bet. He thinks she is happy with Joel and the
children and he doesn't want to break in at this late day. But he will
come. Mark my words, he will come to help his mother when I write him
more fully. I'll explain, too, that I'll keep it from the papers, and
when he gets here he can stay out here with us and keep away from old
acquaintances as much as he likes. Yes, he will come."

It ended in accordance with this prediction. One evening at dusk John
arrived in town and was delivered by a street-hack at Cavanaugh's door.
He was received with open arms by the old couple and treated as a
much-loved son. And he was glad that he came. For the first time since
the departure of Dora and the loss of Binks he felt restful and at home.
The delightful old-fashioned room, filled with the very perfume of
cleanliness, to which he was assigned, at once charmed and soothed him.
Till late that night the three friends sat talking on the porch. Several
times Mrs. Trott was mentioned, but Tilly not once. That she and Joel
lived near by and had been the widow's stanch friends John was not yet
aware, and the Cavanaughs wondered, half fearfully, what effect that
knowledge would have on their guest.

John was waked the next morning by the long, resonant blowing of the
whistles at the mills. It was scarcely light, and, only partly conscious
at first, he fancied that it was his old signal for rising. He thought
he was in his dismal room at his mother's house, and that little ragged
Dora was clattering about in the kitchen below. Slowly he came to full
comprehension and lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. But it was
not to sleep. What a tangle of sordid memories wrapped him about! How
profoundly wise, by comparison, had he become! He wondered if the tiny
cottage in which he and Tilly had passed those few days of blinded bliss
were still ex