“Mr. Sedgwick, I have noticed that since you came to my house you seem to be worried, as though this London roar and confusion oppressed you; and I have seen a look on your face sometimes, which, it seemed to me, if set to words would say:  ’I would give anything in the world to be out of this and back once more free in my native land.’  It worries me, and I want to ask you if something cannot be done to make your life here more pleasant.”

“Why, my dear madam,” said Sedgwick, “I never was half so kindly entertained before as I have been in your house.  There is nothing lacking, nothing; and when I think of ever returning all this kindness my gratitude is made bankrupt.”

“Still, you have something on your mind.  Is it a business trouble?  Will you not test our friendship in real truth?” asked the lady.

Sedgwick looked at her seriously a moment, and said:  “I have something, but it is not business, that distresses me.  But, were I to tell you, it would test your friendship indeed.”

“Well,” responded the lady, “I want to know it.  I hope we can help you.”

“Mrs. Hamlin,” said Sedgwick, “I was reared a farmer’s son.  I was a wild boy, I guess.  I left school with education not yet completed—­left under a cloud, but no disgrace attached to my leaving.  I went to Texas and was a cowboy for a year.  From there I wandered west, learned the occupation of mining; for four years almost every day I have been underground.  I met Jack:  we were friends; how close at last you do not know.  We started east; he accompanied me to my childhood’s home.  After a brief visit I came with him to his.  I have been three weeks under your roof; I am bound by a promise to remain until Jack’s marriage, and, in the meantime, in spite of myself, I, the farmer, the cowboy, and the miner, have dared to look upon your daughter, and my soul is groveling at her feet.  I love her with such intensity that I have feared sometimes I should break down and beseech her to have pity on me.  Now you have it all.  Tell me, I pray, how I can be true to myself and to the hospitality which you have extended me until Jack shall be married and I can return to my native land!”

When he once had begun, his words were poured out in a torrent; his face was pale; he trembled, and his breath came in half gasps.

Mrs. Hamlin was silent a moment.  Then, looking up, she said:  “Have you spoken of this to Jack?”

“Not one word,” he replied.

“Or to Grace?”

“O, Mrs. Hamlin, believe me, not one word.”

The lady leaned her head upon her hand for a few moments.  Then, looking up, she said:  “You ask me what to do.  I cannot help you.  But my judgment would be that you go directly to Grace and ask her help.  I have not the slightest idea of her sentiments toward you, but if she does not care for you and thinks she never can, she will frankly tell you.  If she does love you, she is probably suffering more than you are.”