And Father Speares was silenced. He looked at the license a little ruefully, read the service, and sent them off with a benediction. "God knows, I wish you happiness," he assured Mariana when she kissed him. Several months later, meeting Algarcife on Broadway, he repeated the words. "I am happy," returned Algarcife, emphatically. "Mariana is an angel." "I am glad to hear it," said Father Speares, and he sighed irrelevantly. "A good woman is a jewel of rare value." The term "good woman," applied to Mariana, gave Anthony a sense of unfitness. Mariana was certainly a jewel, but, somehow, it had never occurred to him to look upon her as a "good woman." "She is very charming," he remarked, quietly. Father Speares was regarding him critically. "You are not looking well," he said. "Is it work or worry?" Algarcife shook his head impatiently. "I--oh, I am all right," he rejoined. "A little extra work, that's all." "Your book?" Algarcife's face contracted, and the harassed expression about his mouth deepened. "No, not my book," he answered, hastily. "I've put that aside for a while. I am trying a hand at bread-winning." "With satisfactory results, I hope." Anthony's laugh was slightly constrained. "Why, certainly! Am I the man to fail?" "I don't know," commented Father Speares--"I don't know. I never thought of you in that light, somehow. But if I can help you, remember that you were once my boy." Anthony held out his hand quickly, his voice trembling. "You are generous--generous as you have always been, but--I am all right." They parted, Algarcife turning into a cross street. He walked slowly, and the harassed lines did not fade from his mouth. He seemed to have grown older within the last few months, and the fight he was making had bowed his shoulders and sown the seeds of future furrows upon his face. At the corner he bought a box of sardines and a pound of crackers for Mariana, who liked a late supper. Then he crossed to The Gotham and ascended the stairs. He found Mariana in a dressing-sack of pink flannel, sitting upon the bed, and engaged in manufacturing an opera-bonnet out of a bit of black gauze and a few pink rose-buds. She was trying it on as he entered, and, catching sight of him, did not remove it as she raised her hand warningly. "Tell me if it is becoming before you kiss me," she commanded, pressing her thimble against her lips. Anthony drew back and surveyed her. "Of course it is," he replied; "but what is it, anyway?" Mariana laughed and leaned towards him. "A bonnet, of course; not a coal-scuttle or a lamp-shade." Then she took it from her head and held it before her, turning it critically from side to side. "Don't you think it might have a few violets against the hair, just above the left temple? I am sure I could take some out of my last summer's hat."