her four sons you see
a woman in her noblest attribute. You see her as _the mother of men_."

"What is Mr. Levy's business? Who knows?"

"Everyone in Hatton knows that he is an importer of Spanish wines and
fine tobaccos."

"Oh! The ladies generally thought he was a money lender."

"He may be--it is not unlikely."

"Mrs. Swale said so."

"I dare say Mrs. Swale's husband knows."

"Well, John, the Levys cannot touch me. The Harlows have been in
Yorkshire before the Romans came and my family is not only old, it is
noble, or John Hatton would not have married me."

"John Hatton would have married you if you had been a beggar-maid. There
is no woman in the world to him, but his own sweet Jane." Then Jane took
his hands and kissed them, and there was a few moments of most eloquent
silence--a silence just touched with happy tears.

John spoke first. "Jane, my darling," he said, "do you think a few
months in the south would do you good? If you could lie out in the warm
breeze and the sunshine--if you were free of all these little social
worries--if you took your mother with you--if you----"

"John, my dear one, I have an invitation from Lady Harlow to spend a few
weeks with her. Surrey is much warmer than Yorkshire. I might go there."

"Yes," answered John, but his voice was reluctant and dissenting, and in
a few moments he said, "There is little Martha--could you take her with
you?"

"Oh dear me! What would be the good of my going away to rest, if I drag
a child with me? You know Martha is spoiled and wilful."

"Is she? I am sorry to hear that. She would, however, have her maid, and
she is now nearly three years old."

"It would be useless for me to go away, unless I go alone. I suggested
Surrey because I thought you could come to see me every Saturday."

The little compliment pleased John, and he answered, "You shall do just
as you wish, darling! I would give up everything to see you look as you
used to look."

"You are always harping on that one string, John. It is only four years
since we were married. Have I become an old woman in four years?"

"No, but you have become a sick woman. I want you to be well and
strong."

Then she lay back on her pillows, and as she closed her eyes some quick,
hot tears were on her white face, and John kissed them away, and with a
troubled heart, uncertain and unhappy, he bid her good night.

Nothing in the interview had comforted or enlightened him, but there was
that