"Well," he said, "have the bride and bride-groom come home?"
"Yes," she replied, "and I have given notice to quit."
"You have!" he said joyfully; "then you will come to me?"
"No, George, no—not yet."
"Not yet! When, then?" he asked quickly. "I was reading in the paper the other day, that when a man is not heard of for seven years it is lawful to marry another. It is getting on for twice seven years since you were left desolate."
"My dear kind friend," Patience said, "I have waited so long and prayed so often to be shown the right path, that I feel sure God will not leave me without an answer; and till I am certain that my husband is taken away by death, I could not be the wife of another man."
"Then you may wait till you are a hundred," George said impatiently. "How can you ever know?"
"Dear George, be patient with me. Do not be angry with me. I have asked God for guidance, and He will give it in His own time."
"I am wrong to be hard on you, I know," was the reply; "but to see you drifting alone, and with no home, is enough to madden any man when a home is ready for you."
"I have got some strange news for you," Patience said, trying to change the subject. "Our little Joy is Maggie Skinner's child. She left her when destitute on Mr. Boyd's door-step."