Alden Lytton went back to the college with somewhat kinder thoughts of Mary Grey.
And Mrs. Grey went into the house and into the back parlor, where the bishop's widow was waiting up for her.
"Why, my dear, your shoes are wet through and your skirts are draggled up to your knees! Is it possible you walked home through the rain?" inquired the lady.
"Yes, madam; but it will not hurt me."
"But how came you to walk home when Mrs. Doctor Sage promised faithfully to bring you home in her carriage?"
"Oh, my dear friend, the storm came up, and so many people were afraid of wetting their feet that I gave up my seat to another lady," answered Mary Grey.
"Always the same self-sacrificing spirit! Well, my dear, I hope your reward will come in the next world, if not in this. Now go upstairs and take off your wet clothes and get right to bed. I will send you up a glass of hot spiced wine, which will prevent you from taking cold," said the hospitable old lady.
Mary Grey kissed her hostess, said good-night, and ran away upstairs to her own cozy room, where, although it was May time, a bright little wood fire was burning in the fire-place to correct the dampness of the air.
"Well," she said, with her silent laugh, as she began to take off her sodden shoes, "it was worth the wetting to walk home with Alden Lytton, and to make one step of progress toward my object."
And the thought comforted her more than did the silver mug of hot spiced wine that the little page presently brought her.