ortality. Mine--it happened just after John's marriage, and I may
confess it now--had likewise its entombment, bitter as brief. Many
cruel hours sat I in darkness, weeping at the door of its sepulchre,
thinking that I should never see it again; but, in the dawn of the
morning, it rose, and I met it in the desolate garden, different, yet
the very same. And after that, it walked with me continually, secure
and imperishable evermore.

I rode, and John sauntered beside me along the footpath, now and then
plucking a leaf or branch off the hedge, and playing with it, as was
his habit when a lad. Often I caught the old smile--not one of his
three boys, not even handsome Guy, had their father's smile.

He was telling me about Enderley Mill, and all his plans there, in the
which he seemed very happy. At last, his long life of duty was merging
into the life he loved. He looked as proud and pleased as a boy, in
talking of the new inventions he meant to apply in cloth-weaving; and
how he and his wife had agreed together to live for some years to come
at little Longfield, strictly within their settled income, that all the
remainder of his capital might go to the improvement of Enderley Mills
and mill-people.

"I shall be master of nearly a hundred, men and women. Think what good
we may do! She has half-a-dozen plans on foot already--bless her dear
heart!"

It was easy to guess whom he referred to--the one who went hand-in-hand
with him in everything.

"Was the dinner in the barn, next Monday, her plan, too?"

"Partly. I thought we would begin a sort of yearly festival for the
old tan-yard people, and those about the flour-mill, and the Kingswell
tenants--ah, Phineas, wasn't I right about those Kingswell folk?"

These were about a dozen poor families, whom, when our mortgage fell
in, he had lured out of Sally Watkins' miserable alley to these old
houses, where they had at least fresh country air, and space enough to
live wholesomely and decently, instead of herding together like pigs in
a sty.

"You ought to be proud of your tenants, Phineas. I assure you, they
form quite a contrast to their neighbours, who are Lord Luxmore's."

"And his voters likewise, I suppose?--the 'free and independent
burgesses' who are to send Mr. Vermilye to Parliament?"

"If they can," said John, biting his lip with that resolute
half-combative air which I now saw in him at times, roused by things
which continually met him in his deali