had seen the war, Juno’s bitterness I could comprehend, even if I could not comprehend her freedom in expressing it, but the poetess could not be more than a year or two older than I was; she had come after it was all over.  Why should she prolong such memories and feelings?  But my light increased as I remembered she had not written this for us, and that if she had not seen the flames of war, she had seen the ashes; for the ashes I had seen myself here in Kings Port, and had been overwhelmed by the sight, forty years later, more overwhelmed than I could possibly say to Mrs. Gregory St. Michael, or Mrs. Weguelin, or anybody.  The strain of sitting and waiting for the end made my hands cold and my head hot, but nevertheless the light which had come enabled me to bend instantly to Mrs. Braintree and murmur a great and abused quotation to her:—­

          “Tout comprendre c’est tout pardonner.”

But my petition could not move her.  She was too old; she had seen the flames of war; and so she said to her husband:—­

“Edward, will you please help me upstairs?”

And thus the lame, irreconcilable lady left the room with the assistance of her unhappy warrior, who must have suffered far more keenly than I did.

This departure left us all in a constraint which was becoming unbearable when the blessed doorbell rang and delivered us, and Miss Josephine St. Michael entered with John Mayrant.  He wore a most curious expression; his eyes went searching about the room, and at length settled upon Juno with a light in them as impish as that which had flickered in my own mood before the ode.

To my surprise, Miss Josephine advanced and gave me a special and marked greeting.  Before this she had always merely bowed to me; to-night she held out her hand.  “Of course my visit is not to you; but I am very glad to find you here and express the appreciation of several of us for your timely aid to Daddy Ben.  He feels much shame in having said nothing to you himself.”

And while I muttered those inevitable modest nothings which fit such occasions, Miss St. Michael recounted to the bride, whom she was ostensibly calling upon, and to the rest of our now once more harmonious circle, my adventures in the alleys of Africa.  These loomed, even with Miss St. Michael’s perfectly quiet and simple rendering of them, almost of heroic size, thanks doubtless to Daddy Ben’s tropical imagery when he first told the tale; and before they were over Miss St. Michael’s marked recognition of me actually brought from Juno some reflected recognition—­ only this resembled in its graciousness the original about as correctly as a hollow spoon reflects the human countenance divine.  Still, it was at Juno’s own request that I brought down from my chamber and displayed to them the kettle-supporter.