Sturdy Gretchen was still at her post, maid of all work. In the time of the deepest trouble Lily had told her she must go as they had no means of paying her, but she shook her faithful head, saying, "No, no, I will stay. I haf leetle money, petter days come for you. You die if I leaf you; you haf so too much work; you good to me, I not go," whereat Lily bestowed upon her a warm embrace, thus forging the last link that bound her in loving servitude to the family. By many skillful manœuvres Mr. Thornton had contrived to have his own gardener relieve them of much of the drudgery in the greenhouse, assuring Mr. Winthrop that the man must have more to keep him from idleness. Mr. Thornton himself was the best patron the greenhouse had, paying his own prices, which were exorbitant. One might suppose he furnished flowers for all the weddings and parties in the city. Certain it is that all his friends, and public charities with which he had to do, were kept well supplied. Plants, too, bloomed in attic windows that had been bare, and every old lady in the "Home" had her pet in the shape of a plant of his giving. The winter was gliding away, and Mr. Thornton still spent long evenings at the cottage. He did not longer conceal from himself the fact that it was not benevolence alone that drew him thither, nor because a fireside and a welcome from a genial old friend awaited him. He had come to know that while he enjoyed Mr. Winthrop's conversation, and the room was as cosy as ever, yet there was a painful void about it all unless a maiden stole in, dropped the curtain, shaded the lamp, stirred the fire and sat in the corner opposite him, where his eyes might often meet hers; indeed she could converse well with her eyes, and give one a tolerable impression of her thoughts and convictions without spoken words, as they thoughtfully gazed into the fire, rested in smiling affection upon her grandfather, or flashed an appreciative look at some word of his own. If he had sometimes made reply to a profound opinion of Mr. Winthrop's in words that were floating through his mind, they might have been these:— "A sweet attractive kinde of grace, A full assurance given by lookes, Continuall comfort in a face The lineaments of Gospell bookes." And yet he had by no word or look to her given a sign of all this. The truth was, Mr. Thornton had been engaged in an intricate though delightful study. His heart was pleading to go in a certain direction, and he, holding it back, declared it never should, unless reason and conscience approved.