CHAPTER XXXI. AT LAST. Mary, cooking supper, uttered a soft exclamation of pleasure and relief as she heard John's step under the alley window and then at the door. She turned, with an iron spoon in one hand and a candlestick in the other, from the little old stove with two pot-holes, where she had been stirring some mess in a tin pan. "Why, you're"--she reached for a kiss--"real late!" "I could not come any sooner." He dropped into a chair at the table. "Busy?" "No; no work to-day." Mary lifted the pan from the stove, whisked it to the table, and blew her fingers. "Same subject continued," she said laughingly, pointing with her spoon to the warmed-over food. Richling smiled and nodded, and then flattened his elbows out on the table and hid his face in them. This was the first time he had ever lingered away from his wife when he need not have done so. It was the Doctor's proposition that had kept him back. All day long it had filled his thoughts. He felt its wisdom. Its sheer practical value had pierced remorselessly into the deepest convictions of his mind. But his heart could not receive it. "Well," said Mary, brightly, as she sat down at the table, "maybe you'll have better luck to-morrow. Don't you think you may?" "I don't know," said John, straightening up and tossing back his hair. He pushed a plate up to the pan, supplied and passed it. Then he helped himself and fell to eating. "Have you seen Dr. Sevier to-day?" asked Mary, cautiously, seeing her husband pause and fall into distraction. He pushed his plate away and rose. She met him in the middle of the room. He extended both hands, took hers, and gazed upon her. How could he tell? Would she cry and lament, and spurn the proposition, and fall upon him with a hundred kisses? Ah, if she would! But he saw that Doctor Sevier, at least, was confident she would not; that she would have, instead, what the wife so often has in such cases, the strongest love, it may be, but also the strongest wisdom for that particular sort of issue. Which would she do? Would she go, or would she not? He tried to withdraw his hands, but she looked beseechingly into his eyes and knit her fingers into his. The question stuck upon his lips and would not be uttered. And why should it be? Was it not cowardice to leave the decision to her? Should not he decide? Oh! if she would only rebel! But would she? Would not her utmost be to give good reasons in her gentle, inquiring way why he should not require her to leave him? And were there any such? No! no! He had racked his brain to find so much as one, all day long. "John," said Mary, "Dr. Sevier's been talking to you?" "Yes." "And he wants you to send me back home for a while?" "How do you know?" asked John, with a start. "I can read it in your face." She loosed one hand and laid it upon his brow. "What--what do you think about it, Mary?"