"And we've lost seven years, dearest," he said, with a catch in his
voice. "We've lost seven years just because I happened to be born a
fool."

"But we've got fifty ahead of us," she replied with a joyous laugh.

As she spoke, her heart cried out, "Fifty years of the thing I want!"
and she looked up into the kind, serious face of John Henry as if it
were the face of incarnate happiness. A tremendous belief in life
surged from her brain through her body, which felt incredibly warm and
young. She thought exultantly of herself as of one who did not accept
destiny, but commanded it.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, but he held her hand pressed
closely against his heart, and once or twice he turned in the deserted
street and looked into her eyes as if he found there all the words that
he needed.

"We won't waste any more time, will we, Susan?" he asked when they
reached the house. "Let's be married in December."

"If mother is better by then. She hasn't been well, and I am anxious
about her."

"We'll go to housekeeping at once. I'll begin looking about to-morrow.
God bless you, darling, for what you are giving me."

She caressed his hand gently with her fingers, and he was about to speak
again, when the door behind them opened and the head of Cyrus appeared
like that of a desolate bird of prey.

"Is that you, Susan?" he inquired. "Where have you been all this time?
Your mother was taken ill more than an hour ago, and the doctor says
that she has been paralyzed."

Breaking away from John Henry, Susan ran up the steps and past her
father into the hall, where Miss Willy stood weeping.

"I was all by myself with her. There wasn't another living soul in the
house," sobbed the little dressmaker. "She fell over just like that,
with her face all twisted, while I was talking to her."

"Oh, poor mother, poor mother!" cried the girl as she ran upstairs. "Is
she in her room, and who is with her?"

"The doctor has been there for over an hour, and he says that she'll
never be able to move again. Oh, Susan, how will she stand it?"

But Susan had already outstripped her, and was entering the sick-room,
where Mrs. Treadwell lay unconscious, with her distorted face turned
toward the door, as though she were watching expectantly for some one
who would never come. As the girl fell on her knees beside the couch,
her happiness seemed to dissolve like mist before the grim facts of
mortal anguish and death. It was not