Worse than this, in his frequent rides he used to go a mile or two out
of his way to pass Grassmere farmhouse; and however fast he rode the
rest of his journey he always let his nag walk by the farmhouse, and
his eye brightened with hope as he approached it, and his heart sank
as he passed it without seeing Susan.

He now bitterly regretted the vow he had made, never to visit the
Mertons again unless they sent for him.

"They have forgotten me altogether," said he bitterly. "Well, the best
thing I can do is to forget them."

Now, Susan had forgotten him; she was absorbed in her own grief; but
Merton was laboring under a fit of rheumatism, and this was the reason
why Meadows and he did not meet. In fact, farmer Merton often said to
his daughter, "John Meadows has not been to see us a long while."

"Hasn't he, father?" was Susan's languid and careless reply.

One Sunday, Meadows, weakened by his inner struggle, could not help
going to Grassmere church. At least he would see her face. He had
seated himself where he could see her. She took her old place by the
pillar; nobody was near her. The light from a side window streamed
full upon her. She was pale, and the languor of sorrow was upon every
part of her face, but she was lovely as ever.

Meadows watched her, and noticed that more than once without any
visible reason her eyes filled with tears, but she shed none. He saw
how hard she tried to give her whole soul to the services of the