er a quarter of an hour,
found himself in the door-way of the second. He had arrived late, and
the rooms were already thinning.

A woman in a pale-green gown was standing near the open window, her
white profile outlined against the framed darkness, as she listened with
evident amusement to the tall, ill-dressed man beside her.

Hugh's eyes lost the veiled scorn with which it was their wont to look
at society and the indulgent patronage which lurked in them for pretty
women.

Rachel West slowly turned her face towards him without seeing him, and
his heart leaped. She was not beautiful except with the beauty of
health, and a certain dignity of carriage which is the outcome of a head
and hands and body that are at unity with each other, and with a mind
absolutely unconscious of self. She had not the long nose which so
frequently usurps more than its share of the faces of the well-bred, nor
had she, alas! the short upper lip which redeems everything. Her
features were as insignificant as her coloring. People rarely noticed
that Rachel's hair was brown, and that her deep-set eyes were gray. But
upon her grave face the word "Helper" was plainly written--and something
else. What was it?

Just as in the faces of seamen we trace the onslaught of storm and sun
and brine, and the puckering of the skin round the eyes that comes of
long watching in half-lights, so in some faces, calm and pure as
Rachel's, on which the sun and rain have never beaten, there is an
expression betokening strong resistance from within of the brunt of a
whirlwind from without. The marks of conflict and endurance on a young
face--who shall see them unmoved! The Mother of Jesus must have noticed
a great difference in her Son when she first saw Him again after the
temptation in the wilderness.

Rachel's grave, amused glance fell upon Hugh. Their eyes met, and he
instantly perceived, to his astonishment, that she recognized him. But
she did not bow, and a moment later left the nearly empty rooms with the
man who was talking to her.

Hugh was excited out of recognition of his former half-scornful,
half-_blase_ self. That woman must be his wife. She would save him from
himself, this cynical, restless self, which never remained in one stay.
The half-acknowledged weakness in his nature unconsciously flung itself
upon her strength, a strength which had been tried. She would love him,
and uphold him. There would be no more yielding to circumstances if that
p