nce in a while a bird uttered its night cry, or some little brooding
note, and over on the vine-clad gallery, Mrs. Thrush still crooned a
lullaby to her little child, who lay asleep--soft and warm, on her
mother-breast.

I was no longer lonely, no longer shut out from it all--there was the
bird on its nest; the little wife and mother in her home; and I--I was
very near them--akin to them. I had seen myself in _my_ home, with my
child, and my husband; I had felt his dear arms about me, and his dear
face close to mine. I was no longer an alien. I, too, had a place in
the heart of another.

Still I sat and dreamed, and even the ringing of my door-bell failed to
rouse me: but when I heard the maid say to someone:

"She has been downstairs to-night, but I think she has gone up now, and
I don't like to call her."

I started forward, saying quickly:

"No, I am here--I will see any one."

And so he came in, but it was not the one I expected. It was Mr.
Gregory.

I think that he found my embarrassment on greeting him both gratifying
and encouraging, but its cause was alien to his thought. I was brought
back from another world, as it were, with a rude shock, and in my
enfeebled condition, consequent upon a severe illness could not control
myself. Indeed I did not feel that I was mistress of myself at any time
during the evening.

After a word or two, which I cannot recall, I stammered out:

"I was not expecting you this evening--I had not sent for you."

"I know that you have not," he answered--then dropping his voice a
trifle, he added, "I could not wait any longer--I found it difficult to
wait so long as this. I hardly dared hope that I might see you this
evening, but I felt I must try."

Intent upon sparing him the pain of a spoken declaration, I exclaimed:

"Oh, Mr. Gregory, don't! please don't say anything more. I am not
deserving of your esteem and kindness."

He came nearer me, and his voice was at once tender and reverent, as he
said:

"You are more than worthy of what I have to offer, which is myself, and
all that I have."

"Don't!" I cried again; "don't say anything more! Let us imagine this
unsaid!"

"Such words can never be recalled," he said gravely.

"They must be," I persisted; "I cannot accept! I have nothing to give in
return!"

A look of disappointment came over his face, and if I mistake not, it
was shaded with displeasure. "I hardly expected this, Miss Leigh, I have
hardly been led to