“I’ve accomplished one good work at any rate; and, small as it is, I feel better for it. Give this sock to your husband, and tell him his wife sets a good example both by precept and practice to other women, married or single. Thank you very much, both for myself and my friend, who shall profit by your advice,” said Christie, feeling that she had better go before she told every thing. “I hope she will,” returned Mrs. Wilkins, as her guest went away with a much happier face than the one she brought. “And ef I know her, which I think I do, she’ll find that Cinthy Wilkins ain’t fur from right, ef her experience is good for any thing,” added the matron with a sigh, and a glance at a dingy photograph of her Lisha on the wall, a sigh that seemed to say there had been a good deal of “wuss” in her bargain, though she was too loyal to confess it. Something in Christie’s face struck Mr. Fletcher at once when he appeared that evening. He had sometimes found her cold and quiet, often gay and capricious, usually earnest and cordial, with a wistful look that searched his face and both won and checked him by its mute appeal, seeming to say, “Wait a little till I have taught my heart to answer as you wish.” To-night her eyes shunned his, and when he caught a glimpse of them they were full of a soft trouble; her manner was kinder than ever before, and yet it made him anxious, for there was a resolute expression about her lips even when she smiled, and though he ventured upon allusions to the past hitherto tacitly avoided, she listened as if it had no tender charm for her. Being thoroughly in earnest now, Mr. Fletcher resolved to ask the momentous question again without delay. David was not there, and had not been for several weeks, another thorn in Christie’s heart, though she showed no sign of regret, and said to herself, “It is better so.” His absence left Fletcher master of the field, and he seized the propitious moment. “Will you show me the new picture? Mr. Power spoke of it, but I do not like to trouble him.” “With pleasure,” and Christie led the way to a little room where the newly arrived gift was placed. She knew what was coming, but was ready, and felt a tragic sort of satisfaction in the thought of all she was relinquishing for love of David. No one was in the room, but a fine copy of Michael Angelo’s Fates hung on the wall, looking down at them with weird significance. “They look as if they would give a stern answer to any questioning of ours,” Mr. Fletcher said, after a glance of affected interest. “They would give a true one I fancy,” answered Christie, shading her eyes as if to see the better. “I’d rather question a younger, fairer Fate, hoping that she will give me an answer both true and kind. May I, Christie?” “I will be true but—I cannot be kind.” It cost her much to say that; yet she did it steadily, though he held her hand in both his own, and waited for her words with ardent expectation.