awyer having covenanted not to
sell or build upon the left bank. Thus he had enough land upon which
to build his mill when he should have saved the money. He felt nearer
Lucina than he had ever done before. The sanguineness of youth, which
is its best stimulant for advance, thrilled through all his veins. He
had mentioned five years as the possible length of time before
acquisition; secretly he laughed at the idea. Five years! Why, he
could save enough money in three years--in less than three years--in
two years! It had been only a short time since he had made the last
payment on the mortgage, and he had saved his two hundred and
sixty-five dollars. A saw-mill would not cost much. He could build a
great part of it himself.

That night Jerome truly counted his eggs before they were hatched.
All the future seemed but a nest for his golden hopes. He would work
and save--he was working and saving. He would build his mill; as he
thought further, the foundation-stones were laid, the wheel turned,
and the saw hissed through the live wood. He would marry Lucina; he
saw her in her bridal white--

All this time, with that sublime cruelty which man can show towards
one beloved when working for love's final good, and which is a feeble
prototype of the Higher method, Jerome gave not one thought to the
fact that Lucina knew nothing of his plans, and, if she loved him, as
she had said, must suffer. When, moreover, one has absolute faith in,
and knowledge of, his own intentions for the welfare of another, it
is difficult to conceive that the other may not be able to spell out
his actions towards the same meaning.

Jerome really felt as if Lucina knew. The next Sunday he watched her
come into meeting with an exquisite sense of possession, which he
imagined her to understand.

When he did not go to see her that night, but, instead, sat happily
brooding over the future, it never once occurred to him that it might
be otherwise with her.

All poor Lucina's ebullition of spirits from her pleasant visit, her
pretty gowns, and her fond belief that Jerome could not have meant
what he said, and would come to see her after her return, was fast
settling into the dregs of disappointment.

Night after night she put on one of her prettiest gowns, and waited
with that wild torture of waiting which involves uncertainty and
concealment, and Jerome did not come. Lucina began to believe that
Jerome did not love her; she tried to call her maidenly