“You do not believe Lawrence Newt loves you?”

“No,” was the low, firm whisper of reply.

“Whom do you think he loves?”

There was an instant of almost deathly stillness in that turbulent heart.  For a moment the very sea of feeling seemed to be frozen.

Then, and very slowly, a terrible doubt arose in Amy Waring’s mind.  Before this conversation every perplexity had resolved itself in the consciousness that somehow it must all come right by-and-by.  It had never occurred to her to ask, Does he love any one else?  But she saw now at once that if he did, then the meaning of his words was plain enough; and so, of course, he did.

Who was it?

Amy knew there was but one person in the world whose name could possibly answer that question.

But had Lawrence not watched with her—­and with delight—­the progress of Arthur Merlin’s feeling for that other?

Yes; but if, as he watched so closely, he saw and felt how lovely that other was, was it so wonderful that he should love her?

These things flashed through her mind as she sat motionless by Aunt Martha; and she said, with profound tranquillity,

“Very possibly, Hope Wayne.”

Aunt Martha did not look up.  She seemed to feel that she should see something too sad if she did so; but she asked,

“Is she worthy of him?”

“Perfectly!” answered Amy, promptly.

At this word Aunt Martha did look up, and her eyes met Amy’s.  Amy Waring burst into tears.  Her aunt laid aside her work, and gently put her arms about her niece.  She waited until the first gush of feeling had passed, and then said, tenderly,

“Amy, it is by the heart that God leads us women to himself.  Through love I fell; but through love, in another way, I hope to be restored.  Do you really believe he loves Hope Wayne?”

“I don’t know,” was the low reply.

“I know, Amy.”

The two women had risen, and were walking, with their arms clasped around each other, up and down the room.  They stopped at the window and looked out.  As they did so, their eyes fell simultaneously upon the man of whom they were speaking, who was standing at the back of his lofts, looking up at the window, which was a shrine to him.

“There she stood and smiled at me,” he said to himself whenever he looked at it.

As their eyes met, he smiled and waved his hand.  With his eyes and head he asked, as when he had first seen her there,

“May I come up?” and he waved his handkerchief.

The two women looked at him.  As Amy did so, she felt as if there had been a long and gloomy war; and now, in his eager eyes and waving hand, she saw the illumination and waving flags of victory and peace.

She smiled as she looked, and nodded No to him with her head.

But Aunt Martha nodded Yes so vehemently that Lawrence Newt immediately disappeared from his window.