duties, rippling idly over the great deeps of themselves.

One always leaves a station from which a dear friend has just gone with
a certain subdued air, a certain bereaved hush in the voice, and even
Jenny felt a momentary loneliness too. But it was not long before the
doors of home opened again for her in the sound of Theophil's voice;
and in the sense of the old familiar nearness to him she was back again
safe in the only world she ever wished to dwell in.

It was more of an effort with Theophil, and the voice that made home for
Jenny had a strange sound in his own ears, as though it were still
talking to Isabel; but the effort was soon made, and though Jenny teased
him a little and said she believed he had quite lost his, that was to
say _her_, heart to Isabel, of course she believed no such thing. Doubt
is too terrible a toy for true love to play with. You only dare to doubt
as you must sometimes face the fear of death.

"I wish next October were here," said Jenny, artlessly; "it seems such a
long time to wait to see her again."

Did Theophil wish the same? He hardly knew.

"Distance is such a silly thing," went on Jenny. "It seems to have been
invented just to separate those who want to be together. It seems so
arbitrary, so unnecessary."

"I suppose death is a form of distance," said Theophil, irrelevantly.

"Life too, I'm afraid," said Jenny.