In a passion of remorse I threw my arms around her neck, and kissed her again and again, and asked her forgiveness, and said, 'How could I--how could I be so unloving and unkind?' But she stopped my self-reproaches with her lips on my lips, and with broken words of joy and thankfulness. She folded me in her arms, and there was silence between us for many minutes--silence made sacred by love as pure and faithful as ever dwelt in woman's breast. Then I drew the clothes around her, and she lay by my side, saying that she would wait until I was asleep. 'This is like the old time, mother,' I whispered, 'when there was no one else but you and me. But I love you more than I did then, mother.' 'My darling child!' she whispered, in return; 'how you comfort me! But I won't have my dear boy speak another word, except good-night.' We looked out on the following day for a letter from uncle Bryan, but none came, nor any news of him. It was the same on the second day, and the third. My mother began to grow uneasy. 'If he had only left word where he was going to!' she said. 'I am afraid he must be ill.' The business went on very well without him, thanks to my mother's care and attention, except that on Saturday night the supply of 'uncle Bryan's pills,' as they had got to be called in the neighbourhood, ran short, which occasioned my mother much concern. Sunday and Monday passed, and still no tidings of him. On the Tuesday--I remember the day well: we were very busy where I was employed, and I did not come home until past ten o'clock--the shop was shut--a most unusual thing. I knocked at the door hurriedly, and my mother, with happiness in her face, opened it for me. 'Uncle Bryan has come home!' I cried, in a hearty tone. She nodded gladly, and I ran in, and threw my arms about him. I think he was pleased with this spontaneous mark of affection; but he looked at me curiously too, I thought. We sat down--the three of us--and a dead silence ensued. We all looked at each other, and spoke not a word. 'What's the matter, mother?' I asked, for certainly so strange a silence needed explanation. A sweet laugh answered me, and my heart almost leaped into my throat. I darted behind the door, and there stood Jessie Trim, bending forward, with eager face, and sparkling eyes, and hand uplifted to her ear. But when she saw that she was discovered, her manner changed instantly. She came forward, quite demurely. 'Are you glad?' she asked gravely, with her hand in mine. My looks were a sufficient answer. 'And now,' she said, sitting down on the stool, and resting her hands on her lap, we are going to live happily together for ever afterwards.' CHAPTER XV. JESSIE'S ROSEWATER PHILOSOPHY.