He had watched Mercy at the funeral; and, when he saw her face bowed in her hands, and felt rather than saw that she was sobbing, he was stung by a new sense of loss and wrong that he had no right to be by her side and comfort her.

He forgot for the time, in the sight of her grief, all the unhappiness of their relation for the past few months.

He had unconsciously felt all along that, if he could but once look in her eyes, all would be well.

How could he help feeling so, when he recalled the expression of childlike trust and devotion which her sweet face always wore when she lifted it to his?
And now, as his eyes dwelt lingeringly and fondly on every line of her bowed form, he had but one thought, but one consciousness,--his desire to throw his arms about her, and exclaim, "O Mercy, are you not my own, my very own ?" With his heart full of this new fondness and warmth, Stephen went at an early hour to seek Mercy.

As he entered the house, he was sensibly affected by the expression still lingering of the yesterday's grief.