She stood at the parlour door, rosy with walking--a vision of youth and candid innocence, which blushed not, nor had need to blush, at any intent or act that was sanctified by the law of God, and by her own heart.
John rose to meet her.

They did not speak, but only clasped hands.
He was not strong enough for disguises now--in his first look she might have seen, have felt, that I had told her the truth.

For hers--but it dropped down, down, as Ursula March's clear glance had never dropped before.

Then I knew how all would end.
Jael's voice broke in sharply.

"Abel Fletcher, the doctor's wife is wanting thee down in the kitchen-garden, and she says her green gooseberries bean't half as big as our'n." My father awoke--rubbed his eyes--became aware of a lady's presence--rubbed them again, and sat staring.
John led Ursula to the old man's chair.
"Mr.Fletcher, this is Miss March, a friend of mine, who, hearing I was ill, out of her great kindness--" His voice faltered.