When he shut the door, having bade his mother good by, he fairly breathed hard with the sense of having come out of a conflict.

One of the resolutions he had taken was that he would wait for Mercy this morning on a street he knew she must pass on her way to market.

He did not define to himself any motive for this act, except the simple longing to see her face.

He had not said to himself what he would do, or what words he would speak, or even that he would speak at all; but one look at her face he must have, and he had though to himself distinctly in making this plan, "Here is one way in which I can see her every day, and my mother never know any thing about it." When Mrs.White saw Mercy set off for her usual morning walk, a half hour or more after Stephen had left the house, she thought, as she had often though before on similar occasions, "Well, she won't overtake Stephen this time.

I dare say she planned to." Light-hearted Mercy, meantime, was walking on with her own swift, elastic tread, and thinking warmly and shyly of the look with which Stephen had bade her good-by the day before.
She was walking, as was her habit, with her eyes cast down, and did not observe that any one approached her, until she suddenly heard Stephen's voice saying, "Good-morning, Mrs.Philbrick." It was the second time that he had surprised her in a reverie of which he himself was the subject.
This time the surprise was a joyful one; and the quick flush of rosy color which spread over her cheeks was a flush of gladness,--undisguised and honest gladness.
"Why, Mr.White," she exclaimed, "I never thought of seeing you.