“Oh, don't, don't talk of that!” Mrs. Dwight cried. “I don't think it is right to think of unpleasant things when one is happy. God did it, Carson. God did it to save you.” “All right, mother, I was only thinking--” “Well, think of pleasanter things,” Airs. Dwight interrupted him. “Helen's been over to see me rather oftener of late. We frequently sit and chat together. It makes me feel young again. She is very free with me about herself--that is, about everything except her affair with Mr. Sanders.” “She doesn't talk of that much, then?” he ventured, tentatively. “She won't talk about it at all,” said the invalid; “and that's what seems so queer about it. A woman can see deeper into a woman's heart than a man can, and I've been wondering over Helen. Sometimes I almost think--” Mrs. Dwight seemed lost in thought and unconscious of the fact that she had ceased speaking. “You were saying, mother,” he reminded her, eagerly, “that you almost thought--” “Why, it seems to me, Carson, that any natural girl ought to be so full of her engagement to the man she is to marry that she would really _love_ to talk about it. Really it seems to me that Helen may be questioning her heart in this matter, but she'll end by marrying Mr. Sanders. It looks as if she has pledged herself in some way or other, and she is the very soul of honor.” “Oh yes, she is all that,” Dwight said, in an effort at lightness. “Now, good-night, mother.” Much fatigued from his journey and the mental strain upon him, he went up to his room. Throwing off his coat, the night being warm to oppressiveness, he lighted a cigar and sat in the wide-open window. What a strange, tempestuous life was his! How like a mere bauble of soul and flesh was he buffeted between highest heaven and lowest earth! And for what purpose was he created in the vast scheme of endless solar systems? From the row of negro cabins and cottages below, across the dewy grass and shrubbery, on the flower-perfumed air came sounds of unrestrained merriment. Some negro in a cottage near Linda's was playing a mouth-organ to the accompaniment of a sweetly twanging guitar. There was a rhythmic clapping of hands, the musical, drumlike thumping of feet on resounding boards, snatches of happy songs, clear, untrammelled, childlike laughter.