Asenath came down with a quiet face.  In her communing with the sunrise helpful things had been spoken to her.  Somehow, she knew not how, the peace of the day was creeping into her heart.  For some reason, she knew not why, the torment and unrest of the night were gone.  There was a future to be settled, but she would not trouble herself about that just now.  There was breakfast to get; and the sun shone, and a snow-bird was chirping outside of the door.  She noticed how the tea-kettle hummed, and how well the new curtain, with the castle and waterfall on it, fitted the window.  She thought that she would scour the closet at night, and surprise her father by finishing those list slippers; She kissed him when she had tied on the red hood, and said good-by to Dick, and told them just where to find the squash-pie for dinner.

When she had closed the twisted gate, and taken a step or two upon the snow, she came thoughtfully back.  Her father was on his bench, mending one of Meg Match’s shoes.  She pushed it gently out of his hands, sat down upon his lap, and stroked the shaggy hair away from his forehead.

“Father!”

“Well, what now, Sene?—­what now?”

“Sometimes I believe I’ve forgotten you a bit, you know.  I think we’re going to be happier after this.  That’s all.”

She went out singing, and he heard the gate shut again with a click.

Sene was a little dizzy that morning,—­the constant palpitation of the floors always made her dizzy after a wakeful night,—­and so her colored cotton threads danced out of place, and troubled her.

Del Ivory, working beside her, said, “How the mill shakes!  What’s going on?”

“It’s the new machinery they’re h’isting in,” observed the overseer, carelessly.  “Great improvement, but heavy, very heavy; they calc’late on getting it all into place to-day; you’d better be tending to your frame, Miss Ivory.”

As the day wore on, the quiet of Asenath’s morning deepened.  Round and round with the pulleys over her head she wound her thoughts of Dick.  In and out with her black and dun-colored threads she spun her future.  Pretty Del, just behind her, was twisting a pattern like a rainbow.  She noticed this, and smiled.

“Never mind!” she thought, “I guess God knows.”

Was He ready “to bless her, and show her how”?  She wondered.  If, indeed, it were best that she should never be Dick’s wife, it seemed to her that He would help her about it.  She had been a coward last night; her blood leaped in her veins with shame at the memory of it.  Did He understand?  Did He not know how she loved Dick, and how hard it was to lose him?

However that might be, she began to feel at rest about herself.  A curious apathy about means and ways and decisions took possession of her.  A bounding sense that a way of escape was provided from all her troubles, such as she had when her mother died, came upon her.