She had never been so near loving him as at the instant in which he believed he had incurred her ever-lasting displeasure. Generosity and pity were fast undoing the petrifying influences of her early disappointment, their mutual reserve, and tacit misunderstandings. If half he feared were true, his need of her affection, her counsel and companionship were dire. Whatever wrong he had done her by keeping back the tale of hereditary infirmity, he had suffered more from the act than she could ever do. Who knew how much of what she, with others, mistook for constitutional phlegm and studied austerity, was the outward sign of the battle between dread of his inherited doom and the resolve of an iron will to defy natural laws and the sentence of destiny herself, and hold reason upon her rickety throne? Heaven's gentlest and kindest angels were busy with Mabel Dorrance's heart in that reverie, and, as they wrought, the cloud that had rested there for fifteen years broke into rainbow smiles that illumined her countenance into the similitude of the shining ones. “I bless Thee, Father, the All-wise and Ever-merciful, that she is safe!” was her voiceless thanksgiving. No more bitter tears over the lonely, sunken grave! no more hearkening, with aching, never-to-be-satisfied ears for the patter of the “little feet that never trod.” The great sorrow of her life that had been good in His sight was at length a blessing in hers. Her “hereafter” of knowledge of His doings had come to her in this world. “Does it rain, Peter?” questioned Mrs. Aylett of the lad who brought in lights. “Yes, ma'am. It's beginnin' to storm powerful!” he said, respectfully communicative. “Your master has not come?” “No, ma'am.” “See that the lantern over the great gate is lighted, and that some one is ready to take his horse. And, Peter,” as he was going out, “tell Thomas not to bring in supper until Mr. Aylett returns.” She moved to the window, bowed her hands on either side of her eyes to exclude the radiance within, and strained them into the black, black night. “He will have a dark and a disagreeable ride,” she said, coming back to the fire. Her uneasiness was so palpable as to excite Mabel's compassion. “Every step of the road is familiar to him, and he is accustomed to night rides,” she said, encouragingly. “Yes,” absently. “But he will be very wet. Hear the rain!”