Of course, the thought of daring to covet what she saw, had never crossed her, in her humbleness. It was quite away from her. It was something with which she had nothing to do. "But it must be beautiful to be like Miss Faith." And she thanked God, mutely, that she had this beautiful life near her, and could look on it every day. She could not marry Luther Goodell. "A vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast"; But, unlike the maiden of the ballad, she could not smother it down, to break forth, by and by, defying the "burden of life," in sweet bright vision, grown to a keen torture then. Faith had read to her this story of Maud, one day. "I shouldn't have done so," she had said, when it was ended. "I'd rather have kept that one minute under the apple trees to live on all the rest of my days!" She could not marry Luther Goodell. Would it have been better that she should? That she should have gone down from her dreams into a plain man's life, and made a plain man happy? Some women, of far higher mental culture and social place, have done this, and, seemingly, done well. Only God and their own hearts know if the seeming be true. Glory waited. "Everybody needn't marry," she said. This night, with those words of Mr. Armstrong's in her ears, revealing to her so much, she stood before that window of his and watched the fire. Doors were open behind her, leading through to Miss Henderson's chamber. She would hear her mistress if she stirred. If she had known what she did not know--that Faith Gartney stood at this moment in that burning mill, looking forth despairingly on those bright waters and green fields that lay between it and this home of hers--that were so near her, she might discern each shining pebble and the separate grass blades in the scarlet light, yet so infinitely far, so gone from her forever--had she known all this, without knowing the help and hope that were coming--she would yet have said "How beautiful it would be to be like Miss Faith!" She watched the fire till it began to deaden, and the glow paled out into the starlight. By and by, up from the direction of the river road, she saw a chaise approaching. It was stopped at the corner, by the bar place. Two figures descended from it, and entered upon the field path through the stile. One--yes--it was surely the minister! The other--a woman. Who? Miss Faith! Glory met them upon the doorstone. Faith held her finger up. "I was afraid of disturbing my aunt," said she. "Take care of her, Glory," said her companion. "She has been in frightful danger." "At the fire! And you----" "I was there in time, thank God!" spoke Roger Armstrong, from his soul. The two girls passed through to the blue bedroom, softly. Mr. Armstrong went back to the mills again, with horse and chaise. Glory shut the bedroom door.