“Oh, yes, indeed.  We’ve plenty and to spare.  Donald paid a visit to the corner grocery not long ago, and we’ve new-laid eggs, and radishes and all.  Do stay!”

“I think I will.”  And Mrs. Brainard took the radiant face between her soft, white, ringless hands and kissed it as a mother might.

In no time at all the hour had come for the visitors to go to their train.  In spite of their protests Brown would have a cab come for them, though it took him some minutes to get one in a quarter of the city where such luxury was rare.

“Time enough for self-denial,” said he as he took his place facing them.  “Let me play I’m a man of affluence again—­just for to-night.”

“I’m afraid, Don, you’ll always be tempted to call cabs for your wife,” Mrs. Brainard said, and suppressed a bit of a sigh; for, after all, she knew what the future must cost them both, and she herself would miss them sadly from her world.

But it was Helena who silenced her.  “When he walks, I’ll walk,” said she.  “Haven’t I been in training for a year—­even though I didn’t know why I was training?”

“I think we’ve both been in training for the year,” said Brown.  “Even though we didn’t know—­God knew—­and when He trains—­then the end is sure!”

When he had put them in their car, and had taken leave of them with a look which he found it hard to tear away, plain and unpretentious travellers though they were that night, he went striding back through the April midnight to the little old house the Englishman had built so long ago.

As he let himself in, Bim came tearing to meet him.  The firelight was still bright upon the hearth, and Brown sat down before it, leaning forward to look into the glowing coals with eyes which saw there splendid things.  The dog came close and laid his head on Brown’s knee and received the absent-minded but friendly caress he longed for.  Also, with the need for speech, Bim’s master told him something of what he was thinking.

“The look of her, Bim, boy, in those simple clothes—­why, she was never half so beautiful in the most costly things she ever wore.  And she’s mine—­mine!  She’s coming here—­next month, Bim, to be my wife!  Can you believe it?  I can’t—­not more than half.  And yet, when I remember—­remember—­

“And it seemed hard to me, Bim—­all this year—­my life here.  I thought I was an exile—­I, with this coming to me! O God—­but You are good to me—­good!  How I will work—­how we will work—­we—­”

He got up, presently, and as he stood on the hearth-rug, about to leave it for his bed, a whimsical, wonderful thought struck him.

“I’ll never have to borrow little Norah Kelcey any more, for the want of something to get my arms about.  Instead—­some day—­perhaps—­O God, but You are good!”

* * * * *

THE TIME OF HIS LIFE