Here was the only change by which you could guess the story of her life.
Her eyes were like the ears of an anxious mother who can never sleep till
every child is abed; whose sense is quick to hear the faintest footstep
without or within; and who, as years go on, and her children grow older
and older, must still lie awake hearkening for the late footstep on the
stair. In Sally's eyes was the story of the past three years: of love and
temptation and struggle, of watchfulness and yearning and anxiety, of
determination and an inviolable hope. Her eyes had a deeper look than
that in Jim's. Now, as she gazed at him, the maternal spirit rose up from
the great well of protectiveness in her and engulfed both husband and
child. There was always something of the maternal in her eyes when she
looked at Jim. He did not see it--he saw only the wonderful blue, and the
humour which had helped him over such difficult places these past three
years. In steadying and strengthening Jim's will, in developing him from
his Southern indolence into Northern industry and sense of
responsibility, John Appleton's warnings had rung in Sally's ears, and
Freddy Hartzman's forceful and high-minded personality had passed before
her eyes with an appeal powerful and stimulating; but always she came to
the same upland of serene faith and white-hearted resolve; and Jim became
dearer and dearer.
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