“So all this has been another bond between us, dear Jeannie,” she said. “I have always felt that as the sister of your mother and as a woman who loved your father, God, in that inscrutable way of His, gave me a peculiar charge. And the charge has been very sweet to me. Oh, my dear, I don’t say it was always easy. It would be foolish to pretend that, but nothing that is easy is worth doing. That is always a consolation--no, not a consolation, but a strength--when one’s way seems difficult. Perhaps all difficult things are not worth doing, but it is only among them that you find anything that is. And when a difficult thing lies so clearly in one’s path as this, one may take it for granted that one is meant to try one’s hand at it. And I have tried, Jeannie.” Jeannie’s face was still buried on her shoulder. “Oh, Aunt Em, Aunt Em,” was all she could say. Aunt Em stroked her hair gently. “And then this unreasonable old aunt of yours,” she continued, “in order to crown her efforts, comes like a burglar into your room and makes you cry.” Jeannie lifted her head and smiled at her through her tears. “I am not crying unhappily,” she said; “and really, I am going to cry no more. I was crying only because things were so big, and the world was so fine, and I was so little. Is that reasonable, do you think? I rather believe it is. Oh, Aunt Em, if I could only tell you how I honor you!” “I prefer that you should love me a little, Jeannie; that is quite enough. Spare me a little from Jack; there will be plenty left. Oh, my dear, I am so glad! I always liked that rude young man who painted your portrait. Weeks ago I knew he loved you, and I hoped--I hoped that you might love him.” “How could I help it?” cried Jeannie. “And what have I done that this great gift should come to me?” “You have grown up into an attractive young woman,” remarked Aunt Em, with a brisk return to her more usual attitude toward life, “and he into an attractive young man. That, to judge by the marriages one often sees, is more than enough.” Jeannie laughed. “Oh, I am happy, I am happy!” she cried. “What a day I have had: that girl turned the corner, the blessed rain fell, I talked with Jack in the garden, and I have talked to you.” “And now you are going to bed,” said Miss Fortescue. “So I shall be off to my room. Kiss me, my dear, once more.” She rose as she spoke, and Jeannie, bending from her height, kissed her on the forehead and on the cheeks, and without another word Aunt Em took up her candle and went back to her room. It was already after midnight and Jeannie undressed quickly and, putting out her illumination of candles, got into bed. How long she lay there without sleeping she did not know, but at last the myriad-voiced rain outside blended indistinguishable into tones she knew, and in her dreams she communed with Jack.