'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. ” “Don’t use such a word, my dear young lady,” Mr. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. John did not see her until the last period. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. “But of course it’s aunt’s doing really. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. ‘I knew it. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. But I liked to say it. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding.
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