But the two behind them were altogether grave; Miss Prudence was speaking, for Mr. Holmes had asked her what kind of a day she had had.

“To-morrow is to be one of our anniversaries, you know,” she replied; “twenty-four years ago—­to-morrow—­was to have been to me what to-day is to Linnet.  I wonder if I were as light hearted as Linnet.”

“You were as blithe a maiden as ever trod on air,” he returned smiling sadly.  “Don’t I remember how you used to chase me around that old garden.  When we go back let us try another chase, shall we?”

“We will let Marjorie run and imagine it is I.”

“Prudence, if I regain my strength out there, I am coming home to tell you something, may I?”

“I want you to regain your strength, but I am trembling when I think of anything to be told.  Is it anything—­about—­”

“Jerome?  Yes, it is about him and about my self.  It is about our last interview when we spoke of you.  Do you still believe that he is living?”

“Yes, we are living, why should he not be alive?”

“Do yon know how old he would be?”

“He was just twenty years older than I.”

“Then he must be sixty-four.  That is not young, Prudence, and he had grown old when I said goodbye to him on the steamer—­no, it was not a steamer, he avoided the publicity, he went in a merchant ship, there was not even one passenger beside himself.  He had a fine constitution and he knew how to take care of himself; it was the—­worry that made him look old.  He was very warm-hearted and lovable.”

“Yes,” escaped Miss Prudence’s lips.

“But he was weak and lead astray—­it seems strange that your silver wedding day might be almost at hand, and that tall boy and girl in front of you my brother’s children to call me Uncle John.”

“John,” she sobbed, catching her breath.

“Poor child!  Now I’ve brought the tears.  I was determined to get that dead look out of your eyes that was beginning to come to-night.  It shall go away to-night and you shall not awake with it in the morning.  Do you know what you want?  Do you want to tell me what you pray about on your wedding day?”

“Yes, and you can pray with me to-morrow.  I always ask repentance and remission of sins for him and for myself that I may see him once more and make him believe that I have forgiven him.”

“Did you ever wish that you had been his wife and might have shared his exile?”

“Not at first; I was too indignant; I did not forgive him, at first; but since I have wished it; I know he has needed me.”

“But he threw you off.”

“No, he would not let me share his disgrace.”

“He did not love you well enough to keep the disgrace from you, it seems,” said John Holmes, bitterly.

“No, I could not keep him from sin.  The love of a woman is not the love of God.  I failed as many a woman has failed.  But I did not desert him; I went—­but he would not see me.”