But, when he got home, his stout Anglo-Saxon heart reacted, and he faced the situation. He went to his mother and told her what had passed. She colored with indignation, but said nothing. “Well, mother, of course it might be better; but then it might be worse. It's my own fault now if I lose her. Cutlery won't do it in the time, but Invention will: so, from this hour, I'm a practical inventor, and nothing but death shall stop me.” CHAPTER XXVII. Grace Carden ran to the window, and saw Henry Little go away slowly, and hanging his head. This visible dejection in her manly lover made her heart rise to her throat, and she burst out sobbing and weeping with alarming violence. Mr. Carden found her in this state, and set himself to soothe her. He told her the understanding he had come to with Mr. Little, and begged her to be as reasonable and as patient as her lover was. But the appeal was not successful. “He came to see me,” she cried, “and he has gone away without seeing me. You have begun to break both our hearts, with your reason and your prudence. One comfort, mine will break first; I have not his fortitude. Oh, my poor Henry! He has gone away, hanging his head, broken-hearted: that is what you have DONE for me. After that, what are words? Air--air--and you can't feed hungry hearts with air.” “Well, my child, I am sorry now I did not bring him in here. But I really did it for the best. I wished to spare you further agitation.” “Agitation!” And she opened her eyes with astonishment. “Why, it is you who agitate me. He would have soothed me in a moment. One kind and hopeful word from him, one tender glance of his dear eye, one pressure of his dear hard hand, and I could have borne anything; but that drop of comfort you denied us both. Oh, cruel! cruel!” “Calm yourself, Grace, and remember whom you are speaking to. It was an error in judgment, perhaps--nothing more.” “But, then, if you know nothing about love, and its soothing power, why meddle with it at all?”