Hobert, in a voice so sad and so tender
withal, as to set the roses Jenny wore in her bosom trembling. "I dare
say not, indeed. I would not presume to hope you would go a step out of
your way to give me pleasure; only I was feeling so lonesome to-night, I
thought may be--no, I didn't think anything; I certainly didn't hope
anything. Well, no matter, I am ready to go." And he let go the hand he
had been holding, and stood up.

It was Jenny's privilege to pout a little now, and to walk sullenly and
silently home,--so torturing herself and her honest-hearted lover; but
she was much too generous, much too noble, to do this. She would not for
the world have grieved poor Hobert,--not then,--not when his heart was
so sick and so weighed down with shadows; and she told him this with a
simple earnestness that admitted of no doubt, concluding with, "I only
wish, Hobert, I could say or do something to comfort you."

"Then you will stay? Just a moment, Jenny!" And the hand was in his
again.

"Dear Jenny,--dear, dear Jenny!" She was sitting on his knee now; and
the rain, with its pattering against the window, drowned their
heart-beats; and the summer darkness threw over them its sacred veil.

"Shall I tell you, darling, of another dream I have had to-night--since
I have been sitting here?" The fair cheek bent itself close to his to
listen, and he went on. "I have been dreaming, Jenny, a very sweet
dream; and this is what it was. You and I were living here, in this
house, with grandmother; and she was your grandmother as well as mine;
and I was farmer of the land, and you were mistress of the dairy; and
the little room with windows toward the sunrise, and the pretty bureau,
and bed with snow-white coverlet and pillows of down,--that
was"--perhaps he meant to say "_ours_," but his courage failed him, and,
with a charming awkwardness, he said, "yours, Jenny," and hurried on to
speak of the door-yard flowers, and the garden with its beds of thyme
and mint, its berry-bushes and hop-vines and bee-hives,--all of which
were brighter and sweeter than were ever hives and bushes in any other
garden; and when he had run through the catalogue of rustic delights, he
said: "And now, Jenny, I want you to tell me the meaning of my dream;
and yet I am afraid you will interpret it as your grandmother used to
hers."

Jenny laughed gayly. "That is just what I will do, dear Hobert," she
said; "for she used to say that only bad dreams went by contra