“Now, mother,” wrote Benjamin, “just as soon as we are married, which will be very soon, you are to come to us.  Marian says she remembers her own dear mother, and has been lonely without her these many years.”  This was no welcome news to the weary mother; had it been dear Benjamin alone that she was to live with, how she would have hailed her deliverance, but another son’s wife!  How could she face her, and be dependent on her?  It would be her house and her money that provided everything.  She would feel like a beggar she was sure.  She could by no stretch of imagination conceive of a son’s wife to be other than a person to be dreaded.  She spent many sleepless nights over it and shed tears in secret.  Her triumphant faith was never more tried than now.

It may be that in some far-off day, by means of some wonderful instrument yet uncreated, our eyes shall look upon our friends, separated from them by long distances, shall know their comings and goings, their thoughts and motives.  Being not possessed of any such power, mother Kensett vexed her soul in one city, while in another, two young people, happy as birds, held long consultations as to which should be mother’s room, just how it should be furnished, and ran here and there with the eagerness of children gathering moss and bits of china, and all rare and pretty things for a play-house under the trees.

Marian’s ancestral home had been closed for a long time.  It was a stately mansion, of wide halls and towers and spacious apartments, surrounded by magnificent grounds.  During the last few months it had been thoroughly remodelled and refurnished, and now the young couple, after a brief bridal tour, were fairly established in it.

One might suppose that Mrs. Kensett would have felt some risings of pride, as, leaning on the arm of her youngest son, she mounted the marble steps, and walked through the spacious halls and beautiful parlours of his home.

But John’s home was handsome, too; the carpets were soft and rich, the chairs luxurious, and curtained windows spread their drapery about them in soft fine folds.

What of all that when hearts were frozen?  Wealth to this mother meant pride, selfishness, and irreligion.

She looked about her, feeling sure that a tall, elegant lady in a stiff silk train would sweep in, extend the tips of her fingers, and call a servant to get her off to her room with all possible despatch.

There was no one in the parlours, and Benjamin led his mother on into the dining-room—­a room full of warmth and light—­the tea-table already spread, and a delicate, home-like aroma of toast and tea pervading it.

A slight girlish figure in a simple dress of dark blue, her bright hair rippling away into a knot behind, was bending over the grate toasting a piece of bread by the coals.  So noiselessly had they approached, that she heard no sound until they stood before her.

Mrs. Kensett was still looking for Benjamin’s wife to appear in the shape of a cold, grim person of imposing appearance, wearing gold eye-glasses—­when suddenly the toasting-fork was dropped, and with a low cry of joy Marian sprang into her husband’s arms; then, without waiting for formal words of introduction, clasped loving arms about the tired mother, and nestled a rosy face close to hers, and gave her warm clinging kisses, such as are reserved only for our best beloved.