"Oh, Naughty Nan!" she said rousing herself, "I hope that you love him very, very much. Better than I know how to do!"

The paragraph ran in this fashion:

"I have had a very pretty present; I really believe that I like it better than any thing that Robert ever gave me. It is a ring with an onyx: on the stone is engraved two letters in monogram. You shall guess them, my counsellor, and it will not be hard when I whisper that one of them is T. I am very happy and very good. 'Nan's Experiment' is burnt up and with it all my foolishness. 'Such as I wish it to be.' I think of that whenever I look at my ring. Tell me all about your lovely Miss Sarepta. I like to know how I shall have to behave before her. We are to be married next month."

Did Nan know the hurt and the hurt and the hurt of love? No wonder that she was "shy" with Mrs. Towne. Why had not Mrs. Towne told her? Must she write and congratulate Naughty Nan whose story was such as she wished it to be?

The letters that she had written that evening were on the bureau; the sudden remembering of the line that she had written in Mrs. Towne's brought her to her feet with a rush of shame like the old hot flashes from head to foot; she seized the letter and rolling it up tucked it down among the coals; it blazed, burning slowly, the flame curled around the words that she had been saved just in time from sending; the words that would never be written or spoken.

The room was chilly and the candle had burnt out before she went to bed; the lights opposite had long been out. The room was cold and dark and strange; outside in the darkness the night was wild.

It was too late; her conflict had lasted too long; her pride and disdain had killed his love for her; perhaps he felt as she did in that time when she had wanted some one to love her, and he had taken Naughty Nan as she had taken Felix.

She had lived it all through once; she could live it all through again; she could have slept, but would not for fear of the waking. Oh, if it would never come light, and she could lie forever shielded in darkness!

But the light crept up higher and higher into the sky, Hilda pa.s.sed the door, and Uncle Knox's heavy tread was in the hall below.

Another day had come, and other days would always be coming; every day life must be full of work and play, even although Dr. Towne had failed in love that was patience; she had suffered once, because he was slow to understand himself, and plainly he had suffered to the verge of his endurance, because she was slow in understanding herself!

The day wore on to twilight; she had worked listlessly; in the twilight she laid her work aside, and went over to the cottage.

"I have something to show you," said Miss Sarepta; "guess what my last good gift from Philip is."

"I did not know that he had any thing left to give you."

"It is the last and best. A flower of spring!" From a thick envelope in her work-basket, she drew out a photograph, and, with its face upward, laid it in Tessa's hand.

A piquant face: daring in the eyes, sweetness on the lips.

"Nan Gerard!" cried Tessa, catching her breath with a sound like a sob.

"Naughty Nan! And they are to be married here in this room, that I may be bridesmaid."

"Oh, how stupid I was!"

"Why, had you an inkling of it?"

"Several of them, if I had had eyes to see!"

"It came last night, and I lay awake all night, thinking of the woman that Philip will love henceforth better than he loves me."

"Oh, how can you bear it?" Tessa knelt on the carpet at her side, with her head on the arm of the chair.

"I could not, at first. I could not now, if I did not love Philip better than I love myself."

So her sorrow had become Miss Sarepta's! She drew a long breath, and did not speak.

"Don't feel so sorry for me, dear. I have known that in the nature of things,-which is but another name for G.o.d's will,-this must come. Even after all the years, it has come suddenly. Will she love my brother?"

"I am sure she will; more and more as the years go on!"

"Every heart must choose for itself," said Miss Sarepta dreamily, "and the choice of the Lord runs through all our choices."

Tessa's lips gave a glad a.s.sent.

A letter from Dinah that evening ended thus. "Father is not at all well; I think that he grows weaker every day. To-day he said, 'Isn't it _almost_ time for Tessa to come?'"

At noon the next day she was in Dunellen.

XXVI.-ANOTHER MAY.

May came with blossoms, lilacs, and a birthday, she smiled all to herself over last year's reverie; the anniversary of the day in which she had walked homewards with Mr. Hammerton and accepted Felix in the evening followed the birthday; a sad anniversary for Felix, she remembered, for he had her habit of retrospection.

The days slipped through his mind, Laura had told her; he would often ask the day of the week or month. He had become quiet and melancholy, seemingly absorbed in the interest of the moment. He had greeted Tessa as he would have greeted any friend, at their last interview, and she had left him believing that his future would not be without happiness. A year ago to-day, Mr. Hammerton had said that a year made a difference, sometimes. And this year! How the events had hurried into each other, jostling against each other like good-humored people in a crowd! A year ago to-day she had thought of Nan Gerard as the wife of Ralph Towne; to-day she was sailing on the sea, Professor Towne's wife; just as naughty as ever, but rather more dignified. A year ago to-night she had held herself the promised wife of her old tormentor, Felix Harrison; since that night all his future had become a blank, the strong man had become as a little child; since that day Dine had found her wonderful John; since that day Dr. Lake had had his heart's desire, and had been called away from Sue, leaving her a widow; the hurrying year had taken from Gus a long hope and had given him a future of hard work with meagre wages. And Dr. Towne! But she could not trust herself to think of him.

They met as usual, not less often; he had grown graver since last year, and had thrown himself heart and soul into his work: never demonstrative, his manner towards her, had, if possible, become less and less intrusive; but ever responsive, having nothing to respond to, now, but a gentle deference, a shyness that increased; a stranger would have said, meeting him with Tessa Wadsworth, that he was intensely interested in her, but exceedingly in doubt of finding favor.

But Tessa could not see this; she felt only the restraint and chilliness.

Once they were left suddenly alone together; he excused himself and abruptly left her; clearly, he had no reply to make to her letter; his love was worn out with her freaks and whims.

"I deserve it," she said, taking stern pleasure in meting out justice to herself.

One afternoon in late May, she found herself on the gnarled seat that the roots had braided for her; she had been gazing down into the brook and watching a robin-redbreast taking his bath in it, canary-fashion; she watched him until he had flown away and perched upon a post of the Old Place meadow fence, then her eyes came back to the water, the stones, and the weeds.

"I always know where to find you!" The exclamation could be in no other loud voice; she recognized Sue before she lifted her eyes to the tall, black-draped figure. If Sue had had a sorrow, there was no trace of it in voice or countenance.

"Isn't it dusty? How I shall look trailing around in all this black stuff! What do you always come here for? Do you come to meet somebody?"

"It seems that I have come to meet you."

"Don't you remember how you talked to me here that day? I did keep my promise; I _was_ good to Gerald. Poor, dear Gerald! I have nothing to reproach myself with."

"Did mother send you here?"

"She said that I would find you between the end of the planks and Mayfield. Come through the grounds of Old Place with me. I want you to see Mrs. Towne's flowers and a new arbor that Dr. Towne has been putting up."

"No, thank you," said Tessa rising and tossing away a handful of withering wild flowers.

"You don't know how lovely the place is. Dr. Towne is always thinking of some new thing to do; I asked him if it were for that grand wife that he has been waiting so long for, and, do you believe, he said 'Yes,' as sincerely as could be. He looked up at his mother and smiled when he said it, too. I believe they know something. Nan Gerard didn't get him any way! Won't she have a lovely time travelling! I always did want to go to Europe; Gerald never would have taken me. I can't believe that he's dead, can you?"

As Tessa was busy with her veil and did not speak, Sue rattled on.

"Did you know that I've been making another visit at Miss Gesner's? They call their place Blossom Hill, and it has been so sweet with blossoms."

"Is she as lovely as ever?"