grateful."

The unnaturally bright eyes gazed into his as if they didn't quite
understand, and then through the tears she slowly said:

"You have saved me from hell. I'm afraid I haven't long to live. I'll
only ask God that it shall be long enough for me to show you how
grateful I am."

Stuart walked home with a sense of spiritual elation he had never felt
before. For the first time he had given himself utterly without the
hope of reward. A new joy filled his heart with a warm glow. Life began
to take a deep, new meaning. The boundaries of the world had been
extended to include millions whose existence he had ignored. How vast
and thrilling their life! As yet, no new purpose had shaped itself
within, but his soul was stirring with vague, mighty impulses.

When he reached the house on Washington Square it was yet early in the
evening. He longed for the sweet restfulness which Harriet's presence
always brought. He had often come home from a visit to Nan, which had
been a continuous torture, to find in her a grateful peace. How strange
that we so often love those who have the supreme faculty of torturing
instead of making us happy. He found Harriet reading in the library.

"Oh, Jim, dear, where on earth have you been for nearly two days?" she
cried. "I haven't seen you since the wedding----"

"Won't you sing for me?" he broke in.

A smile of pride made her face radiant.

"You want to hear me this late?"

"Yes--you'll not disturb anybody."

"All right----" she paused and suddenly clapped her hands. "I'll get my
mandolin. You've never heard me play that, have you? I've learned 'Way
down on the Swannee Ribber' on it. I know you'll like it."

She ran up the stairs and returned in a moment with the mandolin.
Softly touching a note, she seated herself and began to sing,
accompanying her song with the little half-doubtful touch on the
plaintive strings.

Stuart listened, entranced. He had heard that old song of the South a
hundred times. But she was singing it to-night with a strange new
power. Or was it his imagination? He listened with keen and more
critical ears. No. It was not his imagination. The change was in her
voice. He heard with increasing wonder. The quivering notes of
tenderness sought his inmost being and stirred the deepest emotion--not
with memories of his boyhood days in the South whose glory the song was
telling--but in visions of the future, thoughts of great deeds to be
done and heroic sacrifice