Chester smiled, but more at the trust and exulting love that beamed in his wife's face, than from any confidence excited by her words.

He had relieved his mind by this little confidential chat, and made an effort to be cheerful again.

Mrs. Chester turned and glanced toward the bed where her little guest lay quite still, and to all appearance asleep. She looked so comfortable in her snow-white gown and the little cap of spotted muslin, with its border of cheap lace falling softly around the high forehead and hollow temples, that Mrs. Chester could not help smiling.

"How contented she looks," murmured the happy wife, pressing her husband's hand, and thus drawing his attention toward the little bed.

"Did you ever see such a change in your life?"

"She does sleep very quietly and looks almost pretty, now that she is comfortable and quiet. You are pleased that I brought her home, Jane?"

"Pleased, why yes, of course I am pleased, but then this is only for one night, John. What will become of her to-morrow?" and Mrs. Chester looked with a sort of pleading earnestness into her husband's face, as if she had something on her mind which he might not quite sanction.

"I know--it was that partly which made me a little downhearted just now. It will be hard for her to go away to-morrow--she will feel it very much after you have made her so snug and comfortable."

"But why send her away?" said Mrs. Chester softly, as if she were proposing something very wrong, only that her eyes were brim full of kindness, and a world of gentle persuasion lay in the smile with which she met his surprised look--it was a smile of audacious benevolence, if we may use the term.

"If we could afford it," said Chester, heaving a sigh; "but no--no, Jane, we must not think of this, remember I am in debt still. Let us be just before we are charitable. We have no right to give while we owe a cent which is not yet earned."

The smile left Jane Chester's face--she sighed and looked gravely in the fire; this view of the matter dampened her spirits. After a little her face brightened up.

"Well, John, I suppose you are right, but then what if I manage to keep the child, and save just as much as usual at the end of the week?

then it would be my own little charity, you know."

"But how can you manage that, Jane?"

"Well, now, promise to let me have my own way--just promise that before we go another step--and I will manage it; you shall see."

Chester shook his head, and was about to speak, but his wife rose just then half leaning on his chair, her arm somehow got around his neck, and bending her red lips close to his cheek she raised the only hand that was disengaged and folded the fingers over his mouth.

"Not a word, John--not a word; only promise to let me have my own way--I will have it--you know that well enough!"

"Well," said Chester, laughing, and trying to speak through the fingers that held his lips, "well, go on--I promise--only don't quite stop my breath!"

"Very well," said Jane Chester, removing her hand, and clasping it with the other that fell over his shoulder; "now you shall hear."

"With our little family, you know, I have a great deal of spare time."

"I don't know any such thing, Jane--you are always at work."

"Oh, yes, st.i.tching your shirt-bosoms in plaits so fine that n.o.body can see them; ruffling Isabel's pantalets, and knitting lace to trim morning-gowns and frocks--but what does that amount to?"

"Why, nothing, only you and Isabel always look so pretty and lady-like with these things."

"Very well--but does all this st.i.tching and so on, help to pay your debts?"

"No, perhaps not; but then it pleases me--it sends us into the world well dressed, and"--

"Gratifies your pride a little, hey!" said Mrs. Chester, interrupting him. "Very well, this shall not be all my own charity. You and Isabel shall help--we will all adopt the little girl."

"Well, what do you mean--what would you be at?"

"Why, just this--all the extra work that occupies me so much, we must do without; you shall be content with clean white linen, and Isabel's frocks and things must go with less tr.i.m.m.i.n.g--she is pretty enough without them, you know--then I can take in sewing, and earn enough to pay for what the poor little thing will eat. Perhaps she knows how to sew a little; at any rate, she and Isabel will be handy about the house, and give me more time. There, now, isn't my plan a good one? after all, I shall only do about the same work as ever. You and Isabel will make all the sacrifices."

"I'm afraid not," replied Chester, drawing his wife towards him and kissing her forehead; "but we shall make some, for I have often thought how dreadful it would be to have you--so pretty, so well educated--obliged to go round from shop to shop inquiring for work; and have felt with some pride, perhaps, that while I lived you should never come to this."

"But," said Mrs. Chester, with animation, "if we had no other way--if Isabel were crying for bread, then you would not object--you would give up this feeling of pride--for after all, it is only that."

"No, it is something more than pride, Jane," said Chester, tenderly.

"I love to feel that your comforts are all earned by my own strength; that I am soul and body your protector; were I able, you should never soil these hands with labor again!"

Mrs. Chester lifted the hand which she held to her lips, and her eyes beamed with joy through the tears that filled them.

"I know all this, John, and it makes me love you! oh, how dearly; but then it is wrong--very, very delightful, but still wrong."

"Why wrong, Jane, I cannot understand that?"

"Wrong--why because it might, if I were only selfish enough to take advantage of your tenderness, make me a very useless, gossiping, idle sort of person."

"You would never come to that, Jane."

"No, I should not like to become one of those worthless drones in the great hive of human life, who exist daintily on their husbands'

energies, making him the slave of capricious wants that would never arise but for the idea that it is refined and feminine to be useless.

I would be a wife; a companion; a help to my husband."

"And so you are, all these and more," said Chester, gazing with delight on her animated face. "G.o.d bless you, Jane, for you have been to me a n.o.ble and a true wife."

"Well, then, of course I am to have my own way now. This poor child, I shall not mind in the least asking about work, when it is for her."

"But the shopkeepers, they will not know why you do this."

"Well, what need I care for them?"

"They will think you have a very shiftless, or perhaps dissipated husband, who obliges you to go about among them begging for work."

"No--no, these miseries are not written in my face, John, they will never think that of me."

"Or a widow, perhaps!" rejoined Chester, with a faint smile.

"Don't talk in that way," and Mrs. Chester's eyes filled with tears.

"A widow--your widow--I should never live to be that. The very thought makes my heart stand still. With you I can do anything--but alone--a widow--John, never mention that word again!"

Chester drew down his wife's head and kissed her cheek very tenderly, smoothing her bright tresses with his hand the while.

"Why you should learn to think of these things without so much terror, Jane," he said, in a voice full of tenderness, but still sad, as if some unconquerable presentiment were overshadowing him.

"No--no--I cannot! Talk of something else, John; the little girl, we have forgotten her."

The husband and wife both looked toward the couch. Mary had half risen, and with her elbow resting on the pillow, was regarding them intently with her large and glittering eyes.