arm); "did you want me?"

"Yes. Come up here; never mind the cart."

But that was not John's way. He led the refractory horse, settled
him comfortably under a tree, and gave him in charge to a small boy.
Then he bounded back across the road, and was up the steps to my side
in a single leap.

"I had no notion of seeing you. They said you were in bed
yesterday." (Then he HAD been inquiring for me!) "Ought you to be
standing at the door this cold day?"

"It's quite warm," I said, looking up at the sunshine, and shivering.

"Please go in."

"If you'll come too."

He nodded, then put his arm round mine, and helped me in, as if he
had been a big elder brother, and I a little ailing child. Well
nursed and carefully guarded as I had always been, it was the first
time in my life I ever knew the meaning of that rare thing,
tenderness. A quality different from kindliness, affectionateness,
or benevolence; a quality which can exist only in strong, deep, and
undemonstrative natures, and therefore in its perfection is oftenest
found in men. John Halifax had it more than any one, woman or man,
that I ever knew.

"I'm glad you're better," he said, and said no more. But one look of