and on the crest of a wave it was drifting out into the milder waters of
some unknown sea. He could have laid his head in the kind lap of a woman
and cried: "Comfort me! Give me companionship or I die!"

The wind howled in the chimney and rattled the loose window-sashes; the
snow, freezing as it fell, dashed against the glass with hard, cutting
little blows; at least, that is the way in which the wind and snow
flattered themselves they were making existence disagreeable to Justin
Peabody when he read the letter; but never were elements more mistaken.

It was a June Sunday in the boarding-house bedroom; and for that matter
it was not the boarding-house bedroom at all: it was the old Orthodox
church on Tory Hill in Edgewood.

The windows were wide open, and the smell of the purple clover and the
humming of the bees were drifting into the sweet, wide spaces within.
Justin was sitting in the end of the Peabody pew, and Nancy Wentworth was
beside him; Nancy, cool and restful in her white dress; dark-haired Nancy
under the shadow of her shirred muslin hat.

Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace.

The melodeon gave the tune, and Nancy and he stood to sing, taking the
book between them. His hand touched hers, and as the music of the hymn
rose and fell, the future unrolled itself before his eyes; a future in
which Nancy was his wedded wife; and the happy years stretched on and on
in front of them until there was a row of little heads in the old Peabody
pew, and mother and father could look proudly along the line at the young
things they were bringing into the house of the Lord.