"Of course, in a way I knew I cared more for you than for anybody else--but I didn't realize that you were more to me than Virginia had ever been. I had got so in the habit of thinking I was in love with her that it came almost as a surprise to me to find that it was over." "I knew it long ago," said Susan. "Why didn't you make me see it?" "Oh, I waited for you to find it out yourself. I was sure that you would some day." "Do you think you could ever care for me, Susan?" A smile quivered on Susan's lips as she looked up at him, but with the reticence which had always characterized her, she answered simply: "I think I could, John Henry." His hand reached down and closed over hers, and in the long look which they exchanged under the flickering street lamp, she felt suddenly that perfect security which is usually the growth of happy years. Whatever the future brought to them, she knew that she could trust John Henry's love for her. "And we've lost seven years, dearest," he said, with a catch in his voice. "We've lost seven years just because I happened to be born a fool." "But we've got fifty ahead of us," she replied with a joyous laugh. As she spoke, her heart cried out, "Fifty years of the thing I want!" and she looked up into the kind, serious face of John Henry as if it were the face of incarnate happiness. A tremendous belief in life surged from her brain through her body, which felt incredibly warm and young. She thought exultantly of herself as of one who did not accept destiny, but commanded it. They walked the rest of the way in silence, but he held her hand pressed closely against his heart, and once or twice he turned in the deserted street and looked into her eyes as if he found there all the words that he needed. "We won't waste any more time, will we, Susan?" he asked when they reached the house. "Let's be married in December." "If mother is better by then. She hasn't been well, and I am anxious about her." "We'll go to housekeeping at once. I'll begin looking about to-morrow. God bless you, darling, for what you are giving me." She caressed his hand gently with her fingers, and he was about to speak again, when the door behind them opened and the head of Cyrus appeared like that of a desolate bird of prey. "Is that you, Susan?" he inquired. "Where have you been all this time? Your mother was taken ill more than an hour ago, and the doctor says that she has been paralyzed." Breaking away from John Henry, Susan ran up the steps and past her father into the hall, where Miss Willy stood weeping. "I was all by myself with her. There wasn't another living soul in the house," sobbed the little dressmaker. "She fell over just like that, with her face all twisted, while I was talking to her." "Oh, poor mother, poor mother!" cried the girl as she ran upstairs. "Is she in her room, and who is with her?"