ery much surprised to
hear her express herself in that way, for she had observed that Stella's
mind was somewhat agitated.

Her mother said: "Why, dear, what do you mean?"

Stella said: "Mother, I mean this: that I can never be contented and
happy in the society of any young man other than Penloe. How can I?"

It was a very hard question for her mother to answer, who knew full well
that Penloe had unintentionally made an impression on her daughter's
heart that time could never efface, and she had refrained from saying
much in praise of Penloe, for she knew that it would only be adding fuel
to a very great flame, which it would be impossible for Stella to
quench. She knew that Stella had seen in Penloe a young man greatly
beyond her expectations; even beyond her ideal. Penloe lived in a world
that Stella had only just a faint conception of. It was his intellect,
his exceptionally fine personality, manifested in such a fine, manly
form she admired. But, above all, Stella could see that he had emptied
himself of all save love. And that was so broad, so deep, so far
reaching, so universal in its sympathies, that it stirred her whole
nature.

Mrs. Wheelwright said: "I think my daughter has lost something."

"Yes," said Stella, "I lost it when Penloe delivered his sermon on that
Sunday at church, for I saw in him more than I ever dreamed of seeing in
any man, and when I went up and thanked him for his address, and those
discerning spiritual eyes of his looked so deeply and searchingly into
mine, that he read my secret."

Mrs. Wheelwright went to Stella and pressed her to herself, and kissed
her many times. After awhile Stella said:

"Mother, what I want to find in a man is true companionship. Now, look
at the young men in Orangeville. There are a very few that are kind,
steady young men, but then not one of them would be any companion to me.
I don't want to listen to horse talk, or cattle talk, or hog talk, or
some old back East yarns all the time. They all live in the social and
domestic world; there is nothing intellectual about them; they are not
moved by any broad, grand, sweeping, noble impulses. Their ranch, their
home, and the excitement of their barterings and dickerings, and the
doings of a few of their neighbors constitute the world they live in.
And most of them think all that a woman is good for, is to cook, wash,
and raise babies. And mother, I told you what kind of young men I met in
Roseland; now, they