to tell you something, dear boy, that only two people in the world
beside myself ever knew, and they are both dead, many years now. I am
going to tell you, because I feel--because I think--that, perhaps,
it may help you a little. I, too, Brian, had my dreams when I was a
girl,--my dreams of happiness,--such as every true woman hopes for;--of
a home with all that home means;--of a lover-husband;--of little
ones who would call me 'mother';--and my dreams ended, Brian, on a
battlefield of the Civil War. He went from me the very day we were
promised. He never returned. I have always felt that we were as truly
one as though the church had solemnized and the law had legalized our
union. I promised that I would wait for him."

"And you--you have kept that promise? You have been true to that
memory?" Brian Kent asked, wonderingly.

"I have been true to him, Brian;--all the years of my life I have been
true to him."

Brian Kent bowed his head, reverently.

Rising, the old gentlewoman went close to him, and put her hands on his
shoulders. "Brian, dear, I have told you my secret because I thought
it might help you to know. Oh, my boy--my boy,--don't--don't let
anything--don't let anyone--kill your faith in womanhood! No matter how
bitter your experience, you can believe, now, that there are women who
can be faithful and true. Surely, you can believe it now, Brian,--you
must!"

And as he caught her hands in his, and raised his face to whisper, "I do
believe, Auntie Sue," she stooped and kissed him.