Then she allowed herself to cry for the first time. Poor, sad, tired little bride, whose wedding day had been so different from all her girlish dreams of it. She cried quietly, on the bench, alone, in the darkness. She was cold and tired and lonely.

John came back on the run, from the opposite direction.

"I inquired at the bookseller's shop," said he. "He directed me to the house in which he lodges himself. He recommended it so highly I thought I would leave you alone for a few minutes longer and see the rooms.

Phyllis, I really believe I have found what we want. There are three rooms, though one is very small. There is the coziest little sitting-room, with a fireplace and an easy-chair. Adjoining it is a smaller room. But the bedroom is large, and has two windows. The place is spotlessly clean. And the woman who lets the rooms is a wholesome, good-hearted soul; I am sure you will like her. The terms are a little--well, just a little higher; but the woman says, of course, that is to be expected--with the view of the square from our windows."

John looked at Phyllis doubtfully. "Do you think, dearest, that you could see these for yourself? It isn't far, and I will not ask you to look at another place if you don't like this one."

She drew new courage from his hopefulness They walked the length of the little square.

John rang. The door opened, and a motherly looking woman stood aside to let them enter. Phyllis stood directly below a flaring gas-jet, as she turned to wait for their conductress.

The woman screamed and her hands went to her heart.

"Valentine Oglebay!" she exclaimed.

"That was my mother's name," said Phyllis. She was too tired to be surprised, even. The woman took a step forward.

"Your mother! Then you must be little Phyllis. You don't remember--"

"Farquharson!" cried Phyllis. "Farquharson! Oh! dear, dear Farquharson."

They were crying in each other's arms, repeating names endearingly, incredulously.

VI

John stood staring.

Finally, Mrs. Farquharson, tears streaming down her kindly face, held Phyllis away from her and looked at her long and lovingly.

"My dear, my dear, my deary dear. How ever did you come to find me?"

"I didn't," replied Phyllis. "John found you. He--we--we are looking for lodgings. We--we were married this afternoon. We have been hunting for rooms for hours--and this was the last place----" Phyllis faltered. She turned to John, and then to Mrs. Farquharson. "This is Mr. Landless, my--this is my dear, dear old Nurse Farquharson. She knew my mother and father, and she took care of me when I was a little, little girl. Oh, John, you cannot know how glad I am to see her!"

They shook hands.

"I told her she would like you," said John to Mrs. Farquharson.

"And to think of her being married," said Mrs. Farquharson. "And coming to my house with her husband, looking for a place to live, and me with three rooms all ready for them as soon as ever I can get a fire laid in the grate."

She turned to Phyllis again.

"Just you sit down here in the warm hall a minute, my deary dear," she said, "while I get--though maybe you would like to look at them first.

Yes, of course. Come straight upstairs, Miss--my dear. If you decide to stay--"

"Oh, Farquharson! How can you suggest that we shouldn't stay!" said Phyllis.

"Never would I hint such a thing," replied Mrs. Farquharson. "But, of course, there are only the three rooms, and one of them small, to be sure, and no others in the house unoccupied. This way,--these are the rooms, Miss--my dear. And as I says to the young gentleman--your husband, that is--the sitting-room is that cozy, with the fire, and the bedroom is airy. The view is something pretty, I do a.s.sure you. Oh! my deary dear, my deary dear! How ever did you come to find me?"

It was hard to tell whether Mrs. Farquharson was laughing or crying.

Phyllis sank into the easy-chair with a sigh.

"I shall never get up again," she said to John.

"Slippers," said Mrs. Farquharson, and vanished.

John kissed Phyllis and tried, awkwardly, to take off her hat. He managed it finally, and a loose strand of beautiful hair fell over one of her ears. She tucked it away.

"Isn't it too wonderful to be true!" she said. John's heart was too full for speech. He turned away to hide his working mouth.

Mrs. Farquharson was on her knees before Phyllis a moment later. The slippers were too large, but how welcome to her aching feet. One of her shoes, upturned, caught Mrs. Farquharson's eye. She inspected John's handiwork; then gave Phyllis a startled look.

"In February, my dear. And on your wedding day! How ever came it? With newspapers, all wadded in. Whatever's happened?"

"It has all been very sudden, dear Farquharson" said Phyllis. "I will tell you all about it as soon as I have rested a little. Oh! It is good, good, to be with you. I am so glad, so glad. Aren't you glad, John?

Just think--if you hadn't tried once more. If you hadn't asked at that little shop."

"Shop?" inquired Mrs. Farquharson.

"The little old bookshop, at the other aid of the square," explained John.

"Oh, Mr. Rowlandson's. He sent you here. He would, to be sure. My oldest lodger, sir, and the easiest to do for--though odd. Here's Genevieve with the tea. Don't put the tray on the sofa, Genevieve On the table, of course. Whenever will you learn? Here, drink this, my deary dear. It will prepare your stomach for something more. I am getting your supper ready now downstairs, and the young gentleman's. There's a chop. Do drink a little of the tea, my dear, even if you don't want it. It's for your best. Do you like apricots as well as ever you did? Oh, whoever has had the bringing of you up, that I should have had! The many times I've thought. And your poor dear mother and father both taken at once, too."

"I went to my Uncle Peter," said Phyllis "I have lived there ever since."

"Sir Peter Oglebay--your father's brother I might have known." Mrs.

Farquharson nodded her head vigorously. "Though he was terrible down on your--To think of that now! And so you have been here in London all these many years! And me never to know! Deary me!"

"We--my uncle did everything to find you," Phyllis a.s.sured her. "He even advertised for you. I cried for you very often when I was little, dear Farquharson."

"Did you, indeed, my dear?" asked Mrs. Farquharson, smiling, and wiping her eyes with her ap.r.o.n. "And advertised for me. In the papers. Reward offered and no questions asked. I've read them myself, but never did I think."

"Oh, yes. I wanted you very badly," Phyllis a.s.sured her again. "I used to tease Burbage when I was naughty, by telling her you were never cross with me."

"And who is Burbage?" asked Mrs. Farquharson.

"She is my uncle's housekeeper. She was very good to me, too. But I missed you dreadfully. You know, John, my mother and father were away from home for weeks at a time, and Farquharson took such care of me."

"Such games as we had," said Mrs. Farquharson reflectively; and then to John,--"She was everything whatever from Mary, Queen of Scots, to a dromedary, I've beheaded her many's the time, and her humps was the pillows off her little bed. If Genevieve hasn't burned those chops to a cinder, they must be ready, and why ever she doesn't bring them up I do not know."

What a dainty supper! John did full justice to it.

Mrs. Farquharson brooded over Phyllis; but she could eat nothing.

The kind-hearted woman maintained a constant stream of talk, in which lodgers, rooms, chops, apricots, and toast, and the old times were inextricably intermingled.