inute,
the unopened letter, trembled like an aspen leaf.

"Yes, hers is a grateful nature," observed Mrs. Jessop, sedulously
looking at and speaking to me. "I would not wish it otherwise--I would
not wish her to forget those whose worth she proved in her season of
trouble."

I was silent. The old lady's tongue likewise failed her. She took off
her glove, wiped a finger across each eyelash, and sat still.

"Have you read your little note, Mr. Halifax?"

No answer.

"I will take your message back. She told me what she had said to you."

Ay, all the world might have read those simple lines:

"MY DEAR FRIEND,

"I did not know till yesterday that you had been ill. I have
not forgotten how kind you were to my poor father. I should like to
come and see you if you would allow me.

"Yours sincerely,
"URSULA MARCH."

This was all the note. I saw it, more than thirty years afterwards,
yellow and faded, in the corner of his pocket-book.

"Well, what shall I say to my child?"

"Say"--he half rose, struggling to speak--"ask her to come."

He turned his head towards the window, and the sunshine glittered on
two great drops, large as a child's tear.

Mrs. Jessop went away. And now for a long hour we waited--scarcely
moving. John lay, his eyes sometimes closed, sometimes fixed dreamily
on the bit of blue sky that shone out above the iron railings between
the Abbey trees. More than once they wandered to the little letter,
which lay buried in his hands. He felt it there--that was enough.

My father came in from the garden, and settled to his afternoon doze;
but I think John hardly noticed him--nor I. My poor old father! Yet
we were all young once--let youth enjoy its day!

At length Ursula came. She stood at the parlour door, rosy with
walking--a vision of youth and candid innocence, which blushed not, nor
had need to blush, at any intent or act that was sanctified by the law
of God, and by her own heart.

John rose to meet her. They did not speak, but only clasped hands.

He was not strong enough for disguises now--in his first look she might
have seen, have felt, that I had told her the truth. For hers--but it
dropped down, down, as Ursula March's clear glance had never dropped
before. Then I knew how all would end.

Jael's voice broke in sharply. "Abel Fletcher, the doctor's wife is
wanting thee down in the kitchen-garden, and she says her green
gooseberries bean't half as b