rl."

"How do you know? You didn't put her to the test. You owed her that. It
seems to me you owe it to her now."

The answer to this was on his tongue. It was ready behind his closed
lips, eager to burst forth. That he didn't love the Davidson girl, never
had loved her. That during the past month he had come to realize there
was but one woman in the wide world for him. And did that woman mean
what she said about waiting years--and years--provided she cared? And
did she care?

He didn't utter one word of this. He wanted to, but it seemed so
preposterous. Such an idiotic, outrageous thing to ask. Yet it is
probable that he would have asked it if the young lady had given him
the chance. But she did not; after a sidelong glance at his face, she
hurriedly rose from the rock and announced that she must be getting back
to the house.

"I have some packing to do," she explained; "and, besides, I think it is
going to rain."

"But, Miss Graham, I--"

A big drop of rain splashing upon his shoe confirmed the weather
prophecy. She began to walk briskly toward the bungalow, and he walked
at her side.

"Another storm," she said. "I should think the one we have just passed
through was sufficient for a while. I hope Mrs. Bascom won't get wet."

"She has gone to the village, hasn't she?"

"Yes. She has received some message or other--I don't know how it
came--which sent her off in a hurry. A livery carriage came for her. She
will be back before night."

"Atkins has gone, too. He had some errands, I believe. I can't make out
what has come over him of late. He has changed greatly. He used to be so
jolly and good-humored, except when female picnickers came. Now he is as
solemn as an owl. When he went away he scarcely spoke a word. I thought
he seemed to be in trouble, but when I asked him, he shut me up so
promptly that I didn't press the matter."

"Did he? That's odd. Mrs. Bascom seemed to be in trouble, too. I thought
she had been crying when she came out of her room to go to the carriage.
She denied it, but her eyes looked red. What can be the matter?"

"I don't know."

"Nor I. Mr.--er--Brooks--Or shall I still call you 'Brown'?"

"No. Brown is dead; drowned. Let him stay so."

"Very well. Mr. Brooks, has it occurred to you that your Mr. Atkins is a
peculiar character? That he acts peculiarly?"

"He has acted peculiarly ever since I knew him. But to what particular
peculiarity do you refer?"

"His queer behavior. S