"Miss Dalghren is one of our family, Frank," she said. "She was here that night and knows the whole story. You are with your own people, Frank, so you are not to feel uncomfortable. Do you know what a Bishop of London is said to have once remarked when he watched a man being led to the gallows? 'There, but for the grace of God, goes myself.' The grace of God has brought you to us, Frank, and all of the old dead past has got to bury its dead." Her lovely, sensitive mouth curved in the sweetest little smile, which drew one corner lower than the other, and her big eyes grew dark and deep, suddenly, and seemed to look through mine to see what was behind them. "The interment is already going on, Frank—but I don't see any mourners. Now, you men must run out and let me make the most of my light. My picture is 'way behind." She looked at John. "Show Frank his room," she said, "and see that he has everything that he needs. You may come back for tea, at five, if you like."
I got out of the studio like a man in a dream. John closed the door, then looked at me and laughed.
"How do you feel about it now, old chap?" he asked.
"I feel," said I, in a shaky sort of voice, "a good deal as I imagine Jeanne d'Arc may have felt when the angel brought her the banner." I spun around and stared at him. "What did you ever do to deserve a wife like that?"
John laughed. "Nothing," says he, "and I don't deserve her."
He led the way to the house and I followed, still
