The morning of the next day was spent in still further visits to still more mills. Mr. Brandt was much struck with the direction his guests' attention seemed to take.

"You are very fond of machinery," he remarked to Diana.

"Yes – I don't know much about it," she answered.

"Surely that is not true after these two or three days' work?"

"I knew nothing about it before. Yes, I do enjoy it, Mr. Brandt, with you and Mr. Masters to explain things to me; but it is the people that interest me most."

"The people!" —

"The mill hands?" Mrs. Brandt asked.

"Yes; the mill hands."

"What can you find interesting in them? I am half afraid of them, for my part."

"They look as if they wanted friends so much."

"Friends?" repeated Mrs. Brandt. "I suppose they have friends among themselves. Why should not they? Well, it is time you had a change of society, I think. My husband has taken you among the mill people for two days; now to-night I will introduce you to a different set; some of your church people. I want you to take rest this afternoon, my dear Mrs. Masters – now won't you! – so as to be able to enjoy the evening. I am sure Brandt has fatigued you to death. I never can stand going up and down those stairs in the mills, and standing about; it kills me."

"I wonder how they bear standing at the looms or the other machines all day?"

"They? O, they are accustomed to it, I suppose. An hour or two of it breaks me down. Now rest, will you? It's quite a great occasion to-night. One of our greatest men among the millowners, and one of the pillars of the church you and Mr. Masters are coming to take care of, gives an entertainment to his daughter to-night; a bride – married lately – just come home and just going away again. You'll see all our best people. Now please go and rest."

Diana went to her room and rested, outwardly. In her mind thoughts were very busy. And when it was time to dress, they were hardly diverted from their subjects. It was with a sort of unconscious instinct that Diana threw her beautiful hair into the wavy masses and coils which were more graceful than she knew and crowned her so royally; and in the like manner that she put on a dress of soft white muslin. It had no adornment other than the lace which finished it at throat and wrists; she looked most like a bride herself. So Basil thought, when he came to fetch her; though he did not say his thought, fearing lest he might graze something in her mind which would pain her. He often withheld words for such a reason.

"Will it do?" said Diana, seeing him look at her.

"Too good for the occasion!" said Basil, shaking his head.

"Too much dressed?" said Diana. "I thought I must dress as much as I could. Is it too much, Basil?"

"Nobody else will think so," said the minister with a queer smile.

"Do you think so?"

"You are just as you ought to be. All the same, it is beyond the company. Never mind. Come!"

Downstairs another sort of criticism.

"My dear Mrs. Masters! Not a bit of colour! You will be taken for the bride yourself. All in white, except your beautiful hair! Wait, that won't do; let me try if I can't improve things a little – do you mind? – Just let me see how this will look." Diana submitted patiently, and Mrs. Brandt officiously fastened a knot of blue ribband in her bright hair. She was greatly pleased with the effect, which Diana could not see. However, when they had reached the house they were going to, and leaving the dressing-room Diana took her husband's arm to go down to the company, he detained her to let Mr. and Mrs. Brandt pass on before, and then with a quick and quiet touch of his fingers removed the blue bow and put it in his pocket.

"Basil!" said Diana, smiling, – "she will miss it."

"So shall I. It commonized the whole thing."

There was nothing common left, as every one instantly recognised who saw Diana that evening. A presence of such dignified grace, a face of such lofty and yet innocent beauty, so sweet a movement and manner, nobody there knew anything like it in Mainbridge. On the other hand, it was Diana's first experience of a party beyond the style and degree of Pleasant Valley parties. She found immediately that she was by much the plainest dressed woman in the company; but she forgot to think of the dresses, the people struck her with so much surprise.

Of course everybody was introduced to her; and everybody said the same things.

They hoped she liked Mainbridge; they hoped she was coming to live among them; Mr. Masters was coming to the church, wasn't he? and how did he like the looks of the place?

"You see the best part of the church here to-night," remarked one stout elderly lady in a black silk and with flowers in her cap; a very well-to-do, puffy old lady; – "you see just the best of them, and all the best!"

"What do you call the best part of a church?" Diana asked, looking round the room.

"Well, you see them before you. There is Mr. Waters standing by the piano – he's the wealthiest man in Mainbridge; a very wealthy man. The one with his head a little bald, speaking just now to Mrs. Brandt, is one of our elders; he's pretty comfortable too; a beautiful place he has – have you seen it? No? You ought to have gone there to see his flowers; the grounds are beautiful, laid out with so much taste. But if you are fond of flowers, you should go to see Mr. Tillery's greenhouses. That is Mr. Tillery in the corner, between the two young ladies in white. Mr. Tillery's greenhouses extend half a mile, or would, if they were set in a line, you know."

"Are there any poor people in the church?"

"Poor people?" The article called for seemed to be rare. "Poor people? There are a few, I believe. Not many; the poor people go to the mission chapel. O, we support a mission; that's down in the mill quarter, where the hands live, I mean" —

"And O, Mrs. Masters," a young lady struck in here, "you are coming, aren't you? I have fallen in love with you, and I want you to come. And O, I want you to tell me one thing – is Mr. Masters very strict?"

"About what?" said Diana, smiling.

"About anything."

"Yes; he is very strict about telling the truth."

"O, of course; but I mean about other things; what one may do or mayn't do. Is he strict?"

"Not any stricter than his Master."

"His master? who's that? But I mean, – does he make a fuss about dancing?"

"I never saw Mr. Masters make a fuss about anything."

"O, delightful! then he don't mind? You know, Mrs. Masters, the Bible says David danced."

"The Bible tells why he danced, too," said Diana, wholly unable to keep her gravity.

"Does it? I don't recollect. And O, Mrs. Masters, I want to know another thing; does Mr. Masters use the Episcopal form in marrying people?"

"You are concerned in the question?"

"O yes. I might be, you know, one of these days; and I always think the

Episcopal form is so dignified and graceful; the ring and all that; the

Presbyterian form is so tucky and ugly. O, Mrs. Masters, don't you like a form for everything?"

Before Diana could return an answer to this somewhat comprehensive question, a slight sound caused her to forget both question and speaker and the place where she was, as utterly as if they all had been swept from the sphere of the actual. It belonged to the sweet poise and calm of her heart and life that she was able to keep still as she was and make no movement and give no sign. The sound she had heard was a little running laugh; she thought it came from the next room; yet she did not turn her head to look that way, though it could have been uttered, she knew, from no throat but one. The young lady friend reiterated the question in which she was interested, and Diana answered; I do not know how, nor did she; while she was at the same time collecting her forces and reviewing them for the coming skirmish with circumstances. Evan Knowlton was here at Mainbridge. How could it possibly be? And even as the thought went through her, came that laugh again.

Diana's mind began to be in a great state of confusion, which presently concentred itself upon the one point of keeping a calm and unmoved exterior. And to her surprise, this became easy. The confusion subsided, like the vibrations of harp-strings which have been brushed by a harsh hand; only her heart beat a little, waiting for the coming encounter.

"Shall I take you in to see the bride?" Mr. Brandt here presented himself, offering his services. And Diana rose without hesitation and put her arm in his. She was glad, however, that their progress through the company was slow; she hoped Evan would see before he had to speak to her. She herself felt ready for anything.

It was with a strange feeling, nevertheless, that she went through the introduction to the pale lady of fashion who was Evan's second choice. Beyond white silk and diamonds and a rather delicate appearance, Diana could in that moment discern nothing. Her senses did not seem to serve her well. The lady was very much in request besides, amid her old friends and acquaintances, and there was no chance to talk to her. Then followed the introduction to the bridegroom. He was going to content himself with a bow, but Diana stretched out her hand and gave his a warm grasp. "I have seen Captain Knowlton before," – she said simply. She was perfectly quiet now, but she saw that he was not; and that he was willing to take refuge with other claimants upon his attention to escape any particular words with her. She stepped back, and gradually got behind people, where the sight of her could not distress him. It had distressed him, she had seen that. Was it on her account? or on his own? Gradually, watching her chances, she was able to work her way back into the other room, which was comparatively empty; and there she sat down at a table covered with photographs. She would go away, she thought, as soon as it could gracefully be done. And yet, she would have liked to speak a few words with Evan, this last time they might ever be together. What made him embarrassed in meeting her? With his bride just beside him, that ought not to be, she thought.

The company had almost all crowded into the other room about the bride, and were fully occupied with her; and Diana was alone. She turned over the photographs and reviewed the kings and queens of Europe, with no sort of intelligence as to their families or nationalities, mechanically, just to cover her abstraction, and to seem to be doing something. Then suddenly she knew that Evan was beside her. He had come round and entered by the door from the hall; and now they both stood together for a moment, shielded by a corner of the partition wall between the rooms. Diana had risen.

"This is a very painful meeting" – Captain Knowlton said, after a silence which would have been longer if he had dared to let it be so.

"No" – said Diana, looking at him with as clear and fair a brow as if she had been the moon goddess whose name she bore; and her voice was very sweet. "Not painful, Evan; why should it be? I am glad to see you again."

"I didn't know you were here" – he went on hurriedly, in evident great perturbation.

"And we did not know you were here. I had no notion of it – till I heard your voice in the next room. I knew it instantly."

"I would have spared you this, if I could have foreseen it."

"Spared me what?"

"All this, – this pain, – I know it must be pain to you. – I did not anticipate it."

"Why should it be pain to me?" inquired Diana steadily.

"I know your feeling – I would not have brought Clara into your presence" —

"I am very glad to have seen her," said Diana in the same quiet way, looking at Evan fixedly. "I should have been glad to see more of her, and learn to know her. I could scarcely speak to her for the crowd around."

"Yes, she is a great favourite, and everybody is eager to see her before she goes."

"You are going away soon?"

"O yes! – to my post."

"I hope she will make you happy, Evan," Diana said gently and cordially.

"You are very good, I am sure. I don't want you to think, Diana, that

I – that I, in fact, have forgotten anything" —

"You cannot forget too soon," she answered, smiling, "everything that

Clara would not wish you to remember."

"A fellow is so awfully lonely out there on the frontiers" – he said, mumbling his words through his moustache in a peculiar way.

"You will not be lonely now, I hope."

"You see, Di, you were lost to me. If I could only think of you as happy" —

"You may."

"Happy?" he repeated, looking at her. He had avoided her eyes until now.

"Yes."

"Then you have forgotten?"

"One does not forget," said Diana, with again a grave smile. "But I have ceased to look back sorrowfully."

"But – you are married" —

Then light flushed into Diana's face. She understood Evan's allusion.

"Yes," she said, – "to somebody who has my whole heart."

"But – you are married to Mr. Masters?" – he went on incredulously.

"Certainly. And I love my husband with all the strength there is in me to love. I hope your wife will love you as well," she added with another smile, a different one, which was exceedingly aggravating to the young man. No other lips could wreathe so with such a mingling of softness and strength, love, and – yes, happiness. Captain Knowlton had seen smiles like that upon those lips once, long ago; never a brighter or more confident one. He felt unaccountably injured.

"You did not speak so when I saw you last," he remarked.

"No. I was a fool," said Diana, with somewhat unreasonable perverseness. "Or, if I was not a fool, I was weak."

"I see you are strong now," said the young officer bitterly. "I was never strong; and I am weak still. I have not forgotten, Diana."

"You ought to forget, Evan," she said gently.

"It's impossible!" said he, hastily turning over photographs on the table.

Diana would have answered, but the opportunity was gone. Other people came near; the two fell apart from each other, and no more words were interchanged between them.

It grieved but did not astonish Basil to perceive, when he joined Diana in their own room that night, that she had been weeping; and it only grieved him to know that the weeping was renewed in the night. He gave no sign that he knew it, and Diana thought he was asleep through it all. Tears were by no means a favourite indulgence with her; this night the spring of them seemed to be suddenly unsealed, and they flowed fast and free, and were not to be checked. Neither did Diana quite clearly know what moved them. She was very sorry for Evan; yes, but these tears she was shedding were not painful tears. It came home to her, all the sorrowful waiting months and years that Basil had endured on her account; but sympathy was not a spring large enough to supply such a flow. She was glad those months were ended; yet they were not ended, for Basil did not know the facts she had stated with so much clearness to his whilome rival; she had not told himself, and he did not guess them. "He might," said Diana to herself, – "he ought," – at the same time she knew now there was something for her to do. How she should do it, she did not know.

CHAPTER XXXVII.
AT ONE

They returned to Pleasant Valley that day, and Basil was immediately plunged in arrears of business. For the present Diana had to attend to her mother, whose conversation was anything but agreeable after she learned that her son-in-law had accepted the call to Mainbridge.

"Ministers are made of stuff very like common people," she declared.

"Every one goes where he can get the most."

"You know Mr. Masters has plenty already, mother; plenty of his own."

"Those that have most already are always the ones that want more. I've seen that a thousand times. If a man's property lies in an onion, he'll likely give you half of it if you want it; if he's got all Pleasant Valley, the odds are he won't give you an onion."

Diana would have turned the conversation, but Mrs. Starling came back to the subject.

"What do you suppose you are going to do with me?"

"Mother, that is for you to choose. You know, where ever we are, there's a home for you if you will have it."

"It's a pleasure to your husband to have me, too, ain't it?"

"It is always a pleasure to him to do what is right."

"Complimentary! You have grown very fond of him, haven't you, all of a sudden?"

But this subject Diana would not touch. Not to her mother Not to any one, till the person most concerned knew the truth; and most certainly after that not to any one else. Evan had been told; there had been a reason; she was glad she had told him.

"What do you suppose I'd do in Mainbridge?" Mrs. Starling went on.

"There is plenty to do, mother. It is because there is so much to do, that we are going."

"Dressing and giving parties. I always knew your husband held himself above our folks. He'll be suited there."

This tried Diana, it was so very far from the truth. She fled the field. It was often the safest way. But she was very sorry for her mother. She went to Basil's study, where now no one was, and sat down by the window that looked into the garden. There Rosy presently caught sight of her; came to her, and climbed up into her lap; and for a good while the two entertained one another; the child going on in wandering sweet prattle, while the mother's thoughts, though she answered her, kept a deeper current of their own all the while. She was pondering as she sat there and smelled the roses in the garden and talked to the small Rose in her lap, – she was pondering what she should do to let her husband know what she now knew about herself. One would say, the simplest way would be to tell him! But Diana, with all her simplicity and sweetness, had a New England nature; and though she could speak frankly enough when spoken to, on this or any other subject, she shrank from volunteering revelations that were not expected of her; revelations that were so intimate, and belonged to her very inner self; and that concerned besides so vitally her relations with another person, even though that person were her husband. At the mere thought of doing it, the colour stirred uneasily in Diana's face. Why could not Basil divine? Looking out into the garden, both mother and child, and talking very busily one of them, thinking very busily the other, neither of them heard Basil come in.

"Where's papa?" Rosy was at the moment asking, in a tone sufficiently indicating that in her view of things he had been gone long enough.

"Not very far off" – was the answer, close behind them. Rosy started and threw herself round towards her father, and Diana also started and looked up; and in her face not less than in the little one there was a flash and a flush of sudden pleasure. Basil stooped to put his lips to Rosy's, and then, reading more than he knew in Diana's eyes, he carried the kiss to her lips also. It was many a day since he had done the like, and Diana's face flushed more and more. But Basil had taken up Rosy into his arms, and was interchanging a whole harvest of caresses with her. Diana turned her looks towards the garden, and felt ready to burst into tears. Could it be that he was proud, and intended to revenge upon her the long avoidance to which in days past she had treated him? Not like what she knew of Mr. Masters, and Diana was aware she was unreasonable; but it was sore and impatient at her heart, and she wanted to be in Rosy's place. And Basil the while was thinking whether by his unwonted caress he had grieved or distressed his wife. He touched her shoulder gently, and said,

"Forgive me!"

"Forgive you what?" said Diana, looking round.

"My taking an indulgence that perhaps I should not have taken."

"You are very much mistaken, Basil," said Diana, rising; and her voice trembled and her lips quivered. She thought he was rather cruel now.

"But I have troubled you?" he said, looking earnestly at her.

Diana hesitated, and the quiver of her lips grew more uncontrollable.

"Not in the way you think," she answered.

"How then?" he asked gently. "But I have troubled you. How, Di?"

The last two words were spoken with a very tender, gentle accentuation, and they broke Diana down. She laid one hand on her husband's arm, and the other, with her face in it, on his shoulder, and burst into tears.

I do not know what there is in the telegraphy of touch and look and tone; but something in the grip of Diana's hand, and in her action altogether, wrought a sudden change in Basil, and brought a great revelation. He put his little girl down out of his arms and took his wife in them. And for minutes there was no word spoken; and Rosy was too much astonished at the strange motionless hush they maintained to resent at first her own dispossession and the great slight which had been done her.

There had come a honey-bee into the room by mistake, and not finding there what he expected to find, he was flying about and about, trying in vain to make his way to something more in his line than books; and the soft buzz of the creature was the only sound to be heard, till Rosy began to complain. She did not know what to make of the utter stillness of the two figures beside her, who stood like statues; was furthermore not a little jealous of seeing what she considered her own prerogative usurped by another; and finally began an importunate petitioning to be taken up again. But Rosy's voice, never neglected before, was not heard to-day. Neither of them heard it. The consciousness that was nearest was overpowering, and barred out every other.

"Diana" – said Basil at last in a whisper; and she looked up, all flushed and trembling, and did not meet his eyes. Neither did she take her hand from his shoulder; they had not changed their position.

"Diana, – what are you going to say to me?"

"Haven't I said it?" she answered with a moment's glance and smile; and then between smiles and tears her head sank again.

"Why did you never tell me before?" he said with a breath that was almost a sob, and at the same time had a somewhat imperative accent of demand in it.

"I did not know myself."

"And now?" —

"Now?" – repeated Diana, half laughing.

"Yes, now; what have you got to tell me?"

"Do you want me to tell you what you know already?"

"You have told me nothing, and I do not feel that I know anything till you have told me," he said in a lighter tone. "Hallo, Rosy! – what's the matter?"

For Rosy, seeing herself entirely to all appearance supplanted, had now broken out into open lamentations, too heartfelt to be longer disregarded. Diana gently released herself, and stooped down and took the child up, perhaps glad of a diversion; but Rosy instantly stretched out her arms imploringly to go to her father.

"I was jealous of her, a little while ago," Diana remarked as the exchange was made.

But at that word, Basil set the child, scarcely in his arms, out of them again on the floor; and folding Diana in them anew, paid her some of the long arrear of caresses so many a day withheld. Ay, it was the first time he had known he might without distressing her; and no doubt lips can do no more silently to reveal a passion of affection than these did then. If Basil had had a revelation made to him, perhaps so did Diana; but I hardly think Diana was surprised. She knew something of the depths and the contained strength in her husband's character; but it is safe to say, she would never be jealous of Rosy again! Not anything like these demonstrations had ever fallen to Rosy's share.

Anything, meanwhile, prettier than Diana's face it would be difficult to see. Flushing like a girl, her lips wreathing with smiles, tear-drops hanging on the eyelashes still, but with flashes and sparkles coming and going in the usually quiet grey eyes. Dispossessed Rosy on the floor meanwhile looked on in astonishment so great that she even forgot to protest. Basil looked down at her at last and laughed.

"Rosy has had a lesson," he said, picking her up. "She will know her place henceforth. Come, Di, sit down and talk to me. How came this about?"

"I don't know, Basil," said Diana meekly.

"Where did it begin?"

"I don't know that either. O, begin? I think the beginning was very long ago, when I learned to honour you so thoroughly."

"Honour is very cold work; don't talk to me about honour," said Basil.

"I have fed and supped on honour, and felt very empty!"

"Well, you have had it," said Diana contentedly.

"Go on. When did it change into something else?"

"It has not changed," said Diana mischievously.

"When did you begin to give me something better?"

"Do you know, Basil, I cannot tell? I was not conscious myself of what was going on in me."

"When?"

"Perhaps – since soon after I came home from Clifton. It had not begun then; how soon it began after, I cannot tell. It was so gradual."

"When did you discover a change?"

"I felt it – I hardly discovered it – a good while ago, I think. But I did not in the least know what it was. I wished – Basil, it is very odd!" – and the colour rose in Diana's cheeks, – "I wished that I could love you."

The minister smiled, and there was a suspicious drop in his eyes, which

I think to hide, he stooped and kissed Rosy.

"Go on. When did you come to a better understanding?"

"I don't think I recognised it until – I told mother, not a great while ago, that I cared for nobody in the world but you; but that was different; I meant something different; I do not think I recognised it fully, until – you will think me very strange – until I saw – Evan Knowlton."

"And then?" said Basil with a quick look at his wife. Diana's eyes were dreamily going out of the window, and her lips wore the rare smile which had vexed Evan, and which he himself had never seen on them before that day.

"Then, – he ventured to remind me that – once – it was not true."

"What?" said Basil, laughing. "Your mother makes very confused statements, Rosy?"

"He was mortified, I think, that I did not seem to feel more at seeing him; and then he dared to remind me that I had married a man I did not" – Diana left the word unspoken.

"And then?"

"Then I knew all of a sudden that he was mistaken; that if it had been true once, it was true no longer. I told him so."

"Told him!" echoed her husband.

"I told him. He will make that mistake no more."

"Then, pray, why did you not tell the person most concerned?"

"I could not. I thought you must find it out of yourself."

"How did he take your communication?"

"Basil – human nature is a very strange thing! I think, do you know? – I think he was sorry."

"Poor fellow!" said Basil.

"Can you understand it?"

"I am afraid I can."

"You may say 'poor fellow!' – but I was displeased with him. He had no right to care; at least, to be anything but glad. It was wrong. He had no right."

"No; but you have fought a fight, my child, which few fight and come off with victory."

"It was not I, Basil," said Diana softly. "It was the power that bade the sea be still. I never could have conquered. Never."

"Let us thank Him!"

"And it was you that led me to trust in him, Basil. You told me, that anything I trusted Christ to do for me, he would do it; and I saw how you lived, and I believed first because you believed."

Basil was silent. His face was very grave and very sweet.

"I am rather disappointed in Evan," said Diana after a pause. "I shall always feel an interest in him; but, do you know, Basil, he seems to me weak?"

"I knew that a long while ago."

"I knew it two years ago – but I would not recognise it." Then leaving her place she knelt down beside her husband and laid her head on his breast. "O Basil, – if I can ever make up to you!" —

"Hush!" said he. "We will go and make things up to those millworkers in

Mainbridge."

There was a long pause, and then Diana spoke again; spoke slowly.

"Do you know, Basil, the millowners in Mainbridge seemed to me to want something done for them, quite as much as the millworkers?"

"I make the charge of that over to you."

"Me!" said Diana.

"Why not?"

"What do you want me to do for them?"

"What do you think they need?"

"Basil, they do not seem to me to have the least idea – not an idea– of what true religion is."

"They would be very much astonished to hear you say so."

"But is it not true?"

"You would find every wealthy community more or less like Mainbridge."

"Would I? That does not alter the case, Basil."

"No. Do you think things are different here in Pleasant Valley?"

Diana pondered. "I think they do not seem the same," she said.

"People at least would not be shocked if you told them here what

Christian living is. And there are some who know it by experience."

"No doubt, so there are in the Mainbridge church, though it may be we shall find them most among the poor people."

"But what is it you want me to do, Basil?"

"Show them what a life lived for Christ is. We will both show them; but in my case people lay it off largely on the bond of my profession. Then, when we have shown them for awhile what it is, we can speak of it with some hope of being understood."

"Has anything special come to the Dominie?" Mrs. Starling asked that evening, when after prayers the minister had gone to his study.

"Why, mother?"

"He seems to have a great deal of thanksgiving on his mind!"

"That's nothing very uncommon in him," said Diana, smiling.

"What's happened to you?" inquired her mother next, eyeing her daughter with curious eyes.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't do things commonly without a reason. When folks roll their words out like butter, I like to know what's to pay."

"I cannot imagine what manner of speech that can be," said Diana, amused.

"Well – it was your'n just now. And it was your husband's half an hour ago."

"I suppose," said Diana, gravely now, "that when people feel happy, it makes their speech flow smoothly."

"And you feel happy?" said Mrs. Starling with a look as sharp as an arrow.

"Yes, mother. I do."