"Let's have one more look anyhow," said John, drawing her hands from
her face. "Tell me what's the matter, and if there's anything can be
done to right you, I'll work day and night to do it, Alice."

"There's nothing _can_ be done, John," replied Alice, and would again
have floated out on the ocean of her misery, but in spite of wind and
tide, that is sobs and tears, she held on by the shore at his
entreaty, and told her tale, not even omitting the fact that when she
went to the eldest of the cousins, inheriting through the misfortune
of her and her brother so much more than their expected share, and
"demeaned herself" to beg a little help for her brother, who was dying
of consumption, he had all but ordered her out of the house, swearing
he had nothing to do with her or her brother, and saying she ought to
be ashamed to show her face.

"And that when we used to make mud pies together!" concluded Alice
with indignation. "There, John! you have it all," she added. "--And
now?"

With the word she gave a deep, humbly questioning look into his honest
eyes.

"Is that all, Alice?" he asked.

"Yes, John; ain't it enough?" she returned.

"More'n enough," answered John. "I swear to you, Alice, you're worth
to me ten times what you would ha' been, even if you'd ha' had me,
with ten thousand pounds in your ridicule. Why, my woman, I never saw
you look one 'alf so 'an'some as you do now!"