"I'll come and see you there this afternoon."

"No?"--with a look of delighted surprise. "But you must not--you
ought not."

"But I WILL!" And I laughed to hear myself actually using that
phrase. What would Jael have said?

What--as she arrived just in time to receive a half-malicious,
half-ceremonious bow from John, as he drove off--what that excellent
woman did say I have not the slightest recollection. I only remember
that it did not frighten and grieve me as such attacks used to do;
that, in her own vernacular, it all "went in at one ear, and out at
t'other;" that I persisted in looking out until the last glimmer of
the bright curls had disappeared down the sunshiny road--then shut
the front door, and crept in, content.

Between that time and dinner I sat quiet enough even to please Jael.
I was thinking over the beautiful old Bible story, which latterly had
so vividly impressed itself on my mind; thinking of Jonathan, as he
walked "by the stone Ezel," with the shepherd-lad, who was to be king
of Israel. I wondered whether he would have loved him, and seen the
same future perfection in him, had Jonathan, the king's son, met the
poor David keeping his sheep among the folds of Bethlehem.

When my father came home he found me waiting in my place at table.
He only said, "Thee art better then, my son?" But I knew how glad he
was to see me. He gave token of this by being remarkably conversible
over our meal--though, as usual, his conversation had a sternly moral