my things ready now," he said, and then turned round to open the
door.

"Mother will be in before you are gone, I suppose," said Susan.

"I have only got twenty minutes," said he, looking at his watch.
"But, Susan, tell her what I have said to you. Goodbye." And he
put out his hand. He knew he should see her again, but this had
been his plan to get her hand in his.

"Good-bye, Mr. Dunn," and she gave him her hand.

He held it tight for a moment, so that she could not draw it away,--
could not if she would. "Will you tell your mother?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, quite in a whisper. "I guess I'd better tell
her." And then she gave a long sigh. He pressed her hand again and
got it up to his lips.

"Mr. Dunn, don't," she said. But he did kiss it. "God bless you,
my own dearest, dearest girl! I'll just open the door as I come
down. Perhaps Mrs. Bell will be here." And then he rushed up
stairs.

But Mrs. Bell did not come in. She and Hetta were at a weekly
service at Mr. Beckard's meeting-house, and Mr. Beckard it seemed
had much to say. Susan, when left alone, sat down and tried to
think. But she could not think; she could only love. She could use
her mind only in recounting to herself the perfections of that
demigod whose heavy steps were so audible overhead, as he walked to