old haunts; and while the pleasure of his presence and the excitement of his undisguised anxiety wrought on her, Jo became almost her old self for the moment, gay, cheerful, blooming,--alas! with the bloom of feverishness and vain hope. So spring drew near. The mill was nearly finished. One day in March a warm south-wind "quieted the earth" after a long rain, the river began to stir, its mail of ice to crack and heave under the sun's rays. I persuaded Jo to take a little drive, and once in the carriage the air reanimated her; she rested against me and talked more than I had known her for weeks. "What a lovely day!" said she; "how balmy the air is! there is such an expression of rest without despair, such calm expectation! I always think of heaven such days, Sally!--they are like the long sob with which a child finishes weeping. Only to think of never more knowing tears!--that is life indeed!" A keen pang pierced me at the vibration of her voice as she spoke. I thought to soothe her a little, and said, "Heaven can be no more than love, Jo, and we have a great deal of that on earth." "Do we?" answered she, in a tone of grief just tipped with irony,--and then went on: "I believe you love me, Sally. I would trust you with--my heart, if need were. I think you love me better than any one on earth does." "I love you enough, dear," said I; more words would have choked me in the utterance. Soon we turned homeward. "Tell John to drive down by the river," said Josephine,--"I want to see the new mill." "But you cannot see it from the road, Jo; the hemlocks stand between." "Never mind, Sally; I shall just walk through them; don't deny me! I want to see it all again; and perhaps the arbutus is in bloom." "Not yet, Jo." "I can get some buds, then; I want to have some just once." We left the carriage, and on my arm Jo strolled through the little thicket of hemlock-trees, green and fragrant. She seemed unusually strong. I began to hope. After much searching, we found the budded flowers; she loved most of all wild blossoms; no scent breathed from the closed petals; they were not yet kissed by the odor-giving south-wind into life and expression; but Jo looked at them with sad, far-reaching eyes. I think she silently said good-bye to them.