suppose I had better go now," he said, and
bade his mother good-night.

He went out into the night with a sense of ecstasy of relief and joy. He
was bewildered at himself. How this strong sentiment towards Mercy
Philbrick had taken possession of him he could not tell. He walked up and
down in the snowy path in front of the house for some minutes, questioning
himself, sounding with a delicious dread the depths of this strange sea in
which he suddenly found himself drifting. He went back to the day when
Harley Allen's letter first told him of the two women who might become his
tenants. He felt then a presentiment that a new element was to be
introduced into his life; a vague, prophetic sense of some change at hand.
Then came the first interview, and his sudden disappointment, which he now
blushed to recollect. It seemed to him as if some magician must have laid
a spell upon his eyes, that he did not see even in that darkness how
lovely a face Mercy had, did not feel even through all the embarrassment
and strangeness the fascination of her personal presence. Then he dwelt
lingeringly on the picture, which had never faded from his brain, of his
next sight of her, as she sat on the old stone wall, with the gay
maple-leaves and blackberry-vines in her lap. From that day to the
present, he had seen her only a half dozen times, and only for a chance
greeting as they had passed each other in the street; but it seemed to him
that she had never been really absent from him, so conscious was he of her
all the time. So absorbed was he in these thoughts that a half-hour was
gone before he realized it, and the village bells were ringing for nine o'
clock when he knocked on the door of the wing.

Mrs. Carr had rolled up her knitting, and was just on the point of going
upstairs. Their little maid of all work had already gone to bed, when
Stephen's loud knock startled them all.

"Gracious alive! Mercy, what's that?" exclaimed Mrs. Carr, all sorts of
formless terrors springing upon her at once. Mercy herself was astonished,
and ran hastily to open the door. When she saw Stephen standing there, her
astonishment was increased, and she looked it so undisguisedly that he
said,--

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Philbrick. I know it is late, but my mother sent
me in with a message." ...

"Pray come in, Mr. White," interrupted Mercy. "It is not really late, only
we keep such absurdly early hours, and are so quiet, as we know nobody
here, that a k