again. In his deep abstraction, he almost forgot the woman near him in
memories of the past.

His old love and lost faith were inseparable from that little white spire in
the distance.

Alida stole a glance at him and thought, "He's thinking of her," and she
quietly strolled away to look for wild flowers.

"Yes," muttered Holcroft, at last. "I hope Bessie knows. She'd be the first
one to say it was right and best for me, and she'd be glad to know that in
securing my own home and comfort I had given a home to the homeless and
sorrowful--a quiet, good woman, who worships God as she did."

He rose and joined his wife, who held toward him a handful of trailing
arbutus, rue anemones, bloodroot, and dicentras. "I didn't know they were so
pretty before," he said with a smile.

His smile reassured her for it seemed kinder than any she had yet received,
and his tone was very gentle. "His dead wife will never be my enemy," she
murmured. "He has made it right with her in his own thoughts."


Chapter XXIV. Given Her Own Way

On Monday the absorbing work of the farm was renewed, and every day brought to
Holcroft long and exhausting hours of labor. While he was often taciturn, he
evidently progressed in cheerfulness and hope. Alida confirmed his good
impressions. His meals were prompt and inviting; the house was taking on an
aspect of neatness and order long absent, and his wardrobe was put in as good