I did not find the flowers such comforters as I hoped, and soon entered the house, no doubt slightly impelled thereto by a natural curiosity as well.  I glanced into the drawing-room and parlors as I passed along the hall and began to think Hubert was merely subjecting me to one of his practical jokes, as I could see no sign of visitors anywhere, and I concluded to go to the library and try for a while to forget myself and heartaches in an hour’s hard reading.  I found the door ajar and when I entered the room was surprised to find the curtains drawn, and the room flooded with the June sunshine.  I turned to the study-table to see who might be taking such liberties in the master’s absence when there, standing with his back to me stood Mr. Winthrop himself.  He turned suddenly and saw me.  “Ah, little one, have you come to speak to me?”

“I did not know you were here; but I am very glad to speak to you—­to welcome you home,” I said, giving him my hand.

“You seem like one come back to me from the dead,” he said, soberly, still holding my hand.

“I am not sure if it was not you who held me back from those shining gates.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you held my hand through that long night, I thought but for your firm grasp I should drift out of reach of life altogether.”

“I tried to pray that night, Medoline, as I had never done before; I believe my prayers were answered.”

“Then you have found that the Bible is true?” I asked, looking up eagerly into his face.

“Yes, every day more clearly.”

“Then it was well worth all the weariness and pain I endured to have you say this; but have you fully forgiven me, Mr. Winthrop, and may we take up our friendship as before?”

“Must we take it up as before, Medoline?  I have found I cannot be satisfied with your friendship only?”

“I do not understand you.”

“You drove me away, and you have forced me to return—­must I leave again?  I cannot remain near you any longer with our relation to each other unchanged.  I must have your love or nothing.  Friendship between us, and nothing more, is out of the question.  Can you not learn to love me, Medoline?”

I turned and placed both my hands in his.

“Does this mean love instead of fear?  Remember you told me not long ago you were afraid of me; answer me truly, little one; do hand and heart go together?”

“If you care to have them,” I murmured softly, “but, have you forgotten Mrs. Le Grande?”

“Long ago I ceased to think of her, only as one may remember a brief surrender to an ignoble passion.  The mistake I made was in measuring womanhood generally by her standard—­you have taught me, my darling, that angels have not yet ceased to visit our poor earth.”

“Oh, Mr. Winthrop, you must not go to the other extreme or I shall soon disappoint you.”

“You are all I could wish, Medoline.  If it were possible I would not ask any change in mind or body, my Eve—­fresh from the hand of God.”