em of housing the workers from
their standpoint, not from his.

For the first time he was thinking of his work as something other than a
necessary evil. It had become, in a sense, a means of grace, for he had
discovered that the spirit in which one earns his daily bread means as
much to his soul as the bread itself may mean to his body.

* * * * *

The light from the low reading-lamp lay softly upon Madame's silvered
hair, as she bent over her bit of fancy work, silent, as usual, since
the spell of Edith's presence had come into the house. Alden was not
even pretending to read the paper--he sat staring into the shadows
before him at Edith's empty chair, but, as he looked, he smiled.

[Sidenote: The Goal Reached]

With a little lump in her throat Madame bent over her work again, having
looked up to thread her needle, and having seen his face. For a moment
she waited, hoping for a confidence, but there was none.

Alden took a letter from his pocket and tossed it into her lap. It
announced the sale of the crop at a larger price than ever before, and
requested the first chance upon the yield of the following year.

Madame folded it up and gave it back to him, then their eyes met.

Young and strong and hopeful, radiating the consciousness of good work
well done, her son smiled back at her. Her face illumined with joy.

"Master of the vineyard at last, my son?" she said.

He rose from his chair, bent over, and kissed her fondly. "Yes, Mother,
thanks to you--and Edith." Then he added, after a pause: "Master of
myself, too."

XXII

Each to his Own Work

[Sidenote: Alden Writes to Edith]

"HEART'S DEAREST:

It was two months ago to-day that you went away, and to me it has been
eternity. Every day and every hour I think of you, sometimes with such
intense longing that it seems as though the air before me must take
shape and yield you to my arms.

"I have been working hard, and--no, I will not say 'trying to forget,'
since memory, upon the dull background of my commonplace existence has
set one great blazing star. I would not, if I could choose, go back to
one hour that did not hold you, but rather would I pray for Time to
stand still for us at any one of his jewelled moments upon the dial,
when you and I were heart to heart.

"Mysteriously you have made everything right for me, denied all things
though we are. After ten years of struggle with the vineyard, with
several