At last she spoke, in a voice of unutterable yearning and tenderness, "I do love you, Stephen." At these words, he pressed his hands tighter upon his eyes for one second, then shook them hastily free, and looking up at Mercy said gently,-- "Yes, dear, I know you do; and I know you would have loved me always, if you could.

Do not be unhappy.

I told you a long time ago that to have had you once love me was enough for a lifetime." And Stephen smiled,--a smile more pathetic than Mercy's had been.

He went on, still in the same gentle voice,--a voice out of which the very life seemed to have died,--"I hoped, when we met, all would be right.

It used to be so much to you, Mercy, to look into my eyes, I thought you would trust me when you saw me." No reproach, no antagonism, no entreaty.