steady, he felt every day more and more like giving it up, and taking
him into favour again. He never said so, but I am sure my mother
thought so, and sometimes I did too.

"My mother died that fall, and we had a dreadful still, lonesome
winter--my father and me; and when after a while Stephen came to see me,
as he used to do, my father didn't seem to mind. And pretty soon
Stephen took courage and asked the old man for me. He said that I would
be the saving of him, and that we would always stay with him in his old
age--which came on him fast after my mother died. So, what with one
thing and what with another, he was wrought on to consent to our
marriage: but I do believe it was the thought of helping to save a soul
from death, that did more than all the rest to bring him round.

"Things went well with us for a while--for more than two years--nearly
three; but then one day Stephen went to Weston, and got into trouble;
and the worst was, having begun, he couldn't stop. It was a miserable
time. My father lost faith in Stephen after that, and Stephen lost
faith in himself, and he got restless and uneasy, and it was a dreadful
cross to him to have to stay at father's, knowing that he wasn't trusted
and depended on as he used to be. And I suppose it was a cross to
father to have him there; for when I spoke of going away, though he said
it would break his heart to part from me, his only child, he said, too,
that it would not do to part husband and wife, and perhaps it would be
better to try it, for a while at least. So we went to live in Weston,
and Stephen worked at his trade.

"Then father married again. He was an old man, and it never would have
happened if I could have stayed with him. But what could he do? He
couldn't stay alone. The woman he married was a widow with children,
and I knew there never would be room for me at home any more.

"We had a sad time at Weston. I had always lived on a farm, and, though
Weston wasn't much of a place then, it seemed dreadful close and shut-up
and dismal to me. I was homesick and miserable there, and maybe I
didn't do all I might have done to make things pleasant for Stephen, and
help to keep him straight. It was a dreadful time for him, and for me
too.

"Well, after a while our children were born--twin boys. Stephen was
always tender-hearted over all little children; and over his own--I
couldn't tell you what he was. It did seem then as though, if he could
get a