My how or when Thou wilt not heed,
But come down Thine own secret stair,
That Thou mayst answer all my need,
Yea, every by-gone prayer.
CHAPTER L.
FALLOW FIELDS.
The spring was bursting in bud and leaf before the workmen were out of the Old House. The very next day, Dorothy commenced her removal. Every stick of the old furniture she carried with her; every book of her father's she placed on the shelves of the library he had designed. But she took care not to seem neglectful of Juliet, never failing to carry her the report of her husband as often as she saw him. It was to Juliet like an odor from Paradise making her weep, when Dorothy said that he looked sad—"so different from his old self!"
One day Dorothy ventured, hardly to hint, but to approach a hint of mediation. Juliet rose indignant: no one, were he an angel from Heaven, should interfere between her husband and her! If they could not come together without that, there should be a mediator, but not such as Dorothy meant!
"No, Dorothy!" she resumed, after a rather prolonged silence; "the very word mediation would imply a gulf between us that could not be passed. But I have one petition to make to you, Dorothy. You will be with me in my trouble—won't you?"
"Certainly, Juliet—please God, I will."
"Then promise me, if I can't get through—if I am going to die, that you will bring him to me. I must see my Paul once again before the darkness."
"Wouldn't that be rather unkind—rather selfish?" returned Dorothy.
She had been growing more and more pitiful of Paul.