spring, and Mrs. Starbottle's convalescence. Both
came tardily that year.

Yet she was happy and patient. She was fond of watching the budding
of the trees beyond her window,--a novel sight to her Californian
experience,--and of asking Carry their names and seasons. Even at this
time she projected for that summer, which seemed to her so mysteriously
withheld, long walks with Carry through the leafy woods, whose gray,
misty ranks she could see along the hilltop. She even thought she
could write poetry about them, and recalled the fact as evidence of her
gaining strength; and there is, I believe, still treasured by one of the
members of this little household a little carol so joyous, so simple,
and so innocent, that it might have been an echo of the robin that
called to her from the window, as perhaps it was.

And then, without warning, there dropped from Heaven a day so tender, so
mystically soft, so dreamily beautiful, so throbbing, and alive with the
fluttering of invisible wings, so replete and bounteously overflowing
with an awakening and joyous resurrection not taught by man or limited
by creed, that they thought it fit to bring her out, and lay her in that
glorious sunshine that sprinkled like the droppings of a bridal torch
the happy lintels and doors. And there she lay beatified and calm.

Wearied by watching, Carry had fallen asleep by her side; and Mrs.
Starbottle's thin fingers lay like a benediction on her head. Presently
she called Jack to her side.

"Who was that," she whispered, "who just came in?"

"Miss Van Corlear," said Jack, answering the look in her great hollow
eyes.

"Jack," she said, after a moment's silence, "sit by me a moment, dear
Jack: I've something I must say. If I ever seemed hard, or cold, or
coquettish to you in the old days, it was because I loved you, Jack, too
well to mar your future by linking it with my own. I always loved you,
dear Jack, even when I seemed least worthy of you. That is gone now.
But I had a dream lately, Jack, a foolish woman's dream,--that you might
find what I lacked in HER," and she glanced lovingly at the sleeping
girl at her side; "that you might love her as you have loved me. But
even that is not to be, Jack, is it?" and she glanced wistfully in his
face. Jack pressed her hand, but did not speak. After a few moments'
silence, she again said, "Perhaps you are right in your choice. She is a
good-hearted girl, Jack--but a little bold."

And with this last