bet, he was a long time finding his place. Dorothy looked out of
the window, over the tops of the yellowing woods, to the gray and
turbid river below. Where the hemlocks darkened the channel of the
glen, she heard the angry floods rushing down. The formless rain mists
hung low, and hid the opposite shore.

"See!" said Evesham, with his finger wandering rather vaguely down the
page. "Your father went away on the third of May. The first month's
rent came due on the third of June. That was the day I opened the gate
and let the water down on you, Dorothy. I'm responsible for everything,
you see,--even for the old ewe that was drowned!"

His words came in a dream as he bent over her, resting his unsteady
hand heavily on the ledger.

Dorothy laid her cheek on the date she could not see, and burst into
tears.

"Don't--please don't!" he said, straightening himself, and locking his
hands behind him. "I am human, Dorothy!"

The weeks of Rachel's sickness that followed were perhaps the best
discipline Evesham's life had ever known. He held the perfect flower of
his bliss, unclosing in his hand; yet he might barely permit himself to
breathe its fragrance! His mother had been a strong and prosperous
woman; there was little he could ever do for her. It was well for him
to feel the weight of helpless infirmity in his arms, as he lifted
Dorothy's mother from side to side of her bed, while Dorothy's hands
smoothed the coverings. It was well for him to see the patient
endurance of suffering, such as his youth and strength defied. It was
bliss to wait on Dorothy, and follow her with little watchful homages,
received with a shy wonder which was delicious to him,--for Dorothy's
nineteen years had been too full of service to others to leave much
room for dreams of a kingdom of her own. Her silent presence in her
mother's sick-room awed him. Her gentle, decisive voice and ways, her
composure and unshaken endurance through nights of watching and days of
anxious confinement and toil, gave him a new reverence for the
mysteries of her unfathomable womanhood.

The time of Friend Barton's return drew near. It must be confessed that
Dorothy welcomed it with a little dread, and Evesham did not welcome it
at all. On the contrary, the thought of it roused all his latent
obstinacy and aggressiveness. The first day or two after the momentous
arrival wore a good deal upon every member of the family, except
Margaret Evesham, who was provided with a