costume was quite in keeping with the stormy
day. The young man's face seemed to have special interest for her, though
he apparently was unaware of her existence. A close observer would have
discovered that she was watching him with deeply interested eyes.
Whatever served to hold the thoughts of the young man apparently grew
in perplexity, for the troubled look continually deepened. At last,
forgetting the possible listener, he addressed the dripping clouds,
perhaps,--at least, he was looking at them:--
"I don't know how to do it; but something ought to be done. It is worse
than folly to expect good from the way that things are now managed.
Ester would have known just what, and how; and how interested she would
have been! I try to do her work, and to 'redeem the time;' but the
simple truth is, I don't know how, and nobody else seems to."
These sentences were not given all at once, but murmured from time to
time at
his unsympathetic audience outside.
Patter, patter, patter, drip, drip, drip! steady, uncompromising
business. It was all the answer the clouds vouchsafed him.
With the listener inside it was different. The interested look changed
to an eager one. She left her seat and moved toward the absorbed young
man, breaking in on his reverie with the clearest of voices:--
"I beg your pardon,--but are you thinking of your sister? You are Mr.
Ried, I believe? I have heard of your sister's life, and of her
beautiful death, through a dear friend of my husband, who loved Ester. I
have always wanted to know more about her. I wanted to get acquainted
with you, so I might ask you things about her. I am waiting now for my
husband to come and introduce us. But perhaps it isn't necessary. Do you
know who I am?"
"It is Mrs. Roberts, I believe?" the young man said, struggling with his
astonishment and embarrassment.
"Yes, and you are