t lady has a secret grief, certain," said Grace. "There was real
sorrow in her tones, and there is a sorrow in her face, despite its
superb serenity."

"Well, she is a widow," said Sedgwick.

"Yes, I know," was the answer; "but there is more than sorrow; she gives
me the idea that her thought is that something priceless has been lost
which she might have saved."

"Now I think, little one, that 'you have struck it,' as the miners say,"
said Sedgwick.

"How do you mean?" asked Grace.

"Some one who would have made her his wife and worshiped her has gone,
and she is miserable," said Sedgwick.

"What makes you say that, dearest?" asked Grace.

"Because," replied Sedgwick, "I know it, and I know where he has gone,
and she does not."

"Why, what do you know of her? Did you ever meet her before?" asked
Grace.

"No, I have never met her, but I have met some one who has," said
Sedgwick.

"O, tell me all about it!" said Grace.

"Why, child," Sedgwick said, "that is the lady who went to Texas and
taught school one season, who set the honest heart of Tom Jordan on fire,
and burned it half to ashes, made him sell his home because he was so
wretched, and finally, with my help, or through my fault, set him to
running a tunnel to a mine in Southern Africa, among the Boers and
Kaffirs."

"Do you believe that can be true?" asked Grace.

"I know it," said the confident man. "The description an the singing
tally, and the name is the same. Tom says her singing would make a lark,
out of envy, 'fall outer a tree'."

"Upon my soul!" said Grace, and then lapsed into silence.

"What are you thinking of, sweet?" asked Sedgwick, after a pause.

"I was thinking what accidents our lives hang upon," she said. "O, love,
suppose you had not fancied me at all, what would have become of me?"

"And suppose you had, when I did fancy you and you knew my heart was in
the dust at your feet, that the touch of the hem of your robe upon me
thrilled me like old wine; suppose then I had pleaded for your love, and
though you felt it was mine and intended to give it to me, still had
refused me; might you not be singing, Could you come back to me, Douglas,
in tones to break any one's heart who might hear you?"

Grace thought a moment, and then said: "There's more than all that
to this, love; you men do not know much when it comes to the hearts
of women. She had some other and good reason when she refused the
true-souled man."

"I believe now