he village
store of an evening; he ostracized himself from his kind, lest they
stab him with the confirmation of his agonizing fear. For the first
time in his life Jerome had turned coward.

One day, when Lucina had been gone about a month, he was coming home
from Dale when he heard steps behind him and a voice shouting for him
to stop. He turned and saw Colonel Jack Lamson coming with breathless
quickening of his stiff military gait.

When the Colonel reached him he could scarcely speak; his wheezing
chest strained his coat to exceeding tightness, his face was purple,
he swung his cane with spasmodic jerks. "Fine day," he gasped out.

"Yes, sir," said Jerome.

It was near the end of February, the snow was thawing, and for the
first time there was a suggestion of spring in the air which caused
one, with the recurrence of an old habit of mind, to listen and sniff
as for birds and flowers.

The two men stepped along, picking their way through the melting
snow. "The doctor has ordered me out for a three-mile march every
day. I'm going to stent myself," said the Colonel, still breathing
hard; then he looked keenly at Jerome. "What have you been doing to
yourself, young fellow?" he asked.

"Nothing. I don't know what you mean," answered Jerome.

"Nothing! Why, you have aged ten years since I last saw you!"

"I am well enough, Colonel Lamson."

"How about that deed I witnessed? Have you got enough money to build
the mill yet?"

"No, I haven't," replied Jerome, with a curious tone of defiance and
despair, which the Colonel interpreted wrongly.

"Oh, don't give up yet," he said, cheerfully. "Rome wasn't built in a
day, you know."

Jerome made no reply, but trudged on doggedly.

"How is she?" asked the Colonel, suddenly.

Jerome turned white and looked at him. "Who?" he said.

The Colonel laughed, with wheezy facetiousness. "Why, she--_she_.
Young men don't build nests or saw-mills unless there is a she in the
case."

"There isn't--" began Jerome. Then he shut his mouth hard and walked
on.

"It's only my joke, Jerome," laughed the Colonel, but there was no
responsive smile on Jerome's face. Colonel Lamson eyed him narrowly.
"The Squire had a letter from his wife yesterday," he said, with no
preface. Then he started, for Jerome turned upon him a face as of one
who is braced for death.

"How--is she?" he gasped out.

"Who? Mrs. Merritt? No, confound it all, my boy, she's better! Hold
on to yourself, my b