Mary laid down her piece of linen, and clasped her hands together strongly in her lap. There was something deeply serious in her expression, as she gazed off upon the sea. "It is all right now," she said presently, speaking very simply, and not without effort. "I have been grieved for many weeks, ever since the first letters came. I had no word at all from Roger, and we had been such friends. The captain wrote twice to me, as I told you; his letters were the letters of a gentleman, and most kind. I could be sure that there was no trouble between them, as I feared sometimes at first," and the bright color rushed to her face. "It put me to great anxiety; but the very morning before we sailed a letter came from Roger. I could not bring myself to speak of it then; I can hardly tell you now." "And it is all clear between you? I see,—there was some misunderstanding, my dear. Remember that my boy is sometimes very quick; ’t is a hasty temper, but a warm and true heart. Is it all clear now?" Mary wished to answer, but she could not, for all her trying, manage to speak a word; she did not wish to show the deep feeling that was moving her, and first looked seaward again, and then took up her needlework. Her hand touched the bosom of her gown, to feel if the letter were there and safe. Madam Wallingford smiled, and was happy enough in such a plain assurance. "Oh yes!" Mary found herself saying next moment, quite unconsciously, the wave of happy emotion having left her calm again. "Oh yes, I have come to understand everything now, dear Madam, and the letter was written while the Ranger lay in the port of Brest. They were sailing any day for the English coast." "Sometimes I fear that he may be dead; this very sense of his living nearness to my heart may be only— The dread of losing him wakes me from my sleep; but sometimes by day I can feel him thinking to me, just as I always have since he was a child; ’t is just as if he spoke," and the tears stood bright in Madam Wallingford’s eyes. "No, dear, he is not dead," said Mary, listening eagerly; but she could not tell even Roger Wallingford’s mother the reason why she was so certain. *XXXIII* *THEY COME TO BRISTOL* "The wise will remember through sevenfold births the love of those who wiped away their falling tears."