ful. Wise or foolish, Jane
understood what I said, and in words equally sweet and foolish she gave
me her promise. Oh, mother, it was not altogether the words! It was the
little tremors and coy unfoldings and sweet agitations of love revealing
itself--it wakened in Jane's heart like a wandering rose. And I saw this
awakening of the woman, mother, and it was a wonderful sight."

"John, you have had an experience that most men miss; be thankful for
it."

"I am, mother. As long as I live, I will remember it."

"Did you see Mrs. Harlow?"

"For a short time only. She was much pleased at her daughter's choice.
She thought our marriage might disarrange some of her own plans, but
she said Jane's happiness came before all other considerations."

"Well, John, it is more than a few hours since you had that wonderful
tea with cakes and honey. You must have your proper eating, no matter
what comes or goes. What do you say to a slice of cold roast beef and
some apple pie?"

"Nay, mother, I'm not beef hungry. I'll have the apple pie, and a
pitcher of new milk."

"And then thou must go to bed and settle thyself with a good, deep
sleep."

"To be sure, mother. Joy tires a man as trouble does, but a deep sleep
will rest and steady me."

So John went to the deep, steadying sleep he needed; it was Mrs. Hatton
who watched the midnight hours away in anxious thought and careful
forebodings. She had not worried much about Harry's passion for Lucy
Lugur. She was sure that his Mediterranean trip would introduce him to
girls so much lovelier than Lucy that he would practically have
forgotten her when he returned. Harry had been in love with half a dozen
girls before Lucy. She let Harry slip out of her consideration.

John's case was different. It was vitally true and intense. She
understood that John must marry or be miserable, and she faced the
situation with brimming eyes and a very heavy heart. She had given John
her loving sympathy, and she would not retract a word of it to him. But
to God she could open her heart and to Him she could tell even those
little things she would not speak of to any human being. She could ask
God to remember that, boy and man, John had stood by her side for nearly
thirty years, and that he was leaving her for a woman who had been
unknown a year ago.

She could tell God that John's enthusiastic praise of this strange woman
had been hard to bear, and she divined that at least for a time she
might have t