Already the gossips of the town were coupling her name with the Carletons, the majority giving her to Tom, the elder, and more worthy of the two. A whisper of this gossip had been borne to Mrs. Carleton, who, while pretending to ignore it, had felt troubled as she recalled all the incidents of Jimmie’s visit at home. Then, when the suspicion came to her that the woman whom Rose had taken into her household was possibly identical with the girl of New London, whose name she could not remember, she felt for a moment greatly disturbed. There was a fierce struggle with her pride, a close reasoning with herself, and then her better nature triumphed, and her heart went out very kindly toward poor Annie, at that moment standing by her husband’s grave, and wondering why her thoughts would keep straying away to the wayward young man who had been a traitor to his country, but was trying to atone by voluntarily bearing the hardships of a private’s life when a better was offered him. He had asked if she would think he did right, and the question had shown that he cared for her good opinion. Yes, she did think he was right, and she resolved to send him a message to that effect when Rose wrote to him next. There was no wrong to the dead in the thought, and her tears dropped just as fast upon the marble as she stooped to kiss the name cut upon it and then left the silent graveyard. Meantime Rose had visited her sick woman in the Hollow,—had fed the hungry children, and dropped upon the floor the six weeks baby which she tried to hold, then, gathering her shawl about her and holding up her skirts, just as she always did when in the homes of the poor, she re-entered her carriage and bade Jake drive her next to Widow Simms’. Everything there was neat and clean as soap and sand and the widow’s two hands could make it, while Susan made a very pretty picture, in her dark stuff gown with the scarlet velvet ribbon in her black hair. There was a saucer of English violets on the round deal table, and their sweet perfume filled the room into which Rose came dancing, her eyes shining like stars, and her cheeks so brilliant a color that the widow began directly to wonder “if there wasn’t some paint there.”