estling in his neck and raised up to
kiss his face, and her arms straining him with nervous
eagerness.

"O Winthrop! -- O Winthrop! -- O dear Winthrop! --" was the cry,
as fast as sobs and kisses would let her.

"Winnie --" said her brother again.

"O Winthrop! -- why didn't you come!"

He did not answer that, except by the heaving breast which
poor Winnie could not feel.

"I am here now, dear Winnie."

"O Winthrop! --" Winnie hesitated, and the burden of her heart
would burst forth, -- "why aren't you a Christian! --"

It was said with a most bitter rush of tears, as if she felt
that the most precious thing she had, lacked of preciousness;
that her most sure support needed a foundation. But when a
minute had stilled the tears, and she could hear, she heard
him say, very calmly,

"I am one, Winnie."

Her tears ceased absolutely on his shoulder, and Winnie was
for a moment motionless. Then as he did not speak again, she
unclasped her arms and drew back her head to look at him. The
constant flashes of light gave her chance enough.

"You heard me right," he said.

"Are you?" -- she said wistfully.

"By God's help -- this night and for ever."

Winnie brought her hands together, half clapping, half
clasping them, and then threw them to their former position
around his neck, exclaiming, --

"Oh if _she_ had known it before --!"

There was no answer to that, of words; and Winnie could not
see the sudden paleness which witnessed to the answer within.
But it came, keen as those lightning flashes, home-thrust as
the thunderbolts they witnessed to, that his 'now' had come
too late for her.

The lightnings grew fainter, and failed -- the thunder muttered
off in the distance, and ceased to be heard -- the clouds
rolled down the river and scattered away, just as the dawn was
breaking on Wut-a-qut-o. There had been nothing spoken in the
farmhouse kitchen since Winnie's last words. Winthrop was busy
with his own thoughts, which he did not tell; and Winnie had
been giving hers all the expression they could bear, in tears
and kisses and the strong clasp of her weak arm, and the
envious resting, trusting, lay of her head upon Winthrop's
shoulder and breast. When the glare of the lightning had all
gone, and the grey light was beginning to walk in at the
windows, her brother spoke to her.

"Winnie, -- you would be better in bed."

"Oh no, -- I wouldn't. -- Do you want me to go, Governor?" she
added presently.