ysical health,
full of kindness, full of happiness, made for love, made for
motherhood. All this he did in his hopeless and idealizing worship
of her; and all this and more he hid away: for he too had his crypt.

So watching her and watching vainly over her, he was the first to
see that she was loved and that her nature was turning away from
him, from all that he could offer--subdued by that one other call.

"Now, Fates," he said, "by whatsoever names men have blindly prayed
to you; you that love to strike at perfection, and pass over a
multitude of the ordinary to reach the rare, stand off for a few
years! Let them be happy together in their love, their marriage,
and their young children. Let the threads run freely and be
joyously interwoven. Have mercy at least for a few years!"

A carriage turned a corner of the street and was driven to the
door. Isabel got out, and entered the hall without ringing.

He met her there and as she laid her hands in his without a word,
he held them and looked at her without a word. He could scarcely
believe that in a few days her life could so have drooped as under
a dreadful blight.

"I have come to say good-by," and with a quiver of the lips she
turned her face aside and brushed past him, entering the library.

He drew his own chair close to hers when she had seated herself.

"I thought you and your grandmother were going later: is not this
unexpected?"

"Yes, it is very unexpected."

"But of course she is going with you?"

"No, I am going alone."

"For the summer?"

"Yes, for the summer. I suppose for a long time."

She continued to sit with her cheek leaning against the back of the
chair, her eyes directed outward through the windows. He asked
reluctantly:

"Is there any trouble?"

"Yes, there is trouble."

"Can you tell me what it is?"

"No, I cannot tell you what it is. I cannot tell any one what it
is."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No, there is nothing you can do. There is nothing any one can do."

Silence followed for some time. He smiled at her sadly:

"Shall I tell you what the trouble is?"

"You do not know what it is. I believe I wish you did know. But I
cannot tell you."

"Is it not Rowan?"

She waited awhile without change of posture and answered at length
without change of tone:

"Yes, it is Rowan."

The stillness of the room became intense and prolonged; the
rustling of the leaves about the window sounded like noise.