ling; nice teeth he has and clear eyes. "I was
just looking for that boyish resemblance Mr. Moriway spoke of. I hold
to my first opinion--you're very feminine, Miss Omar. Will you read to
me now, if you please?" He pointed to a big open book on the table
beside his couch.

"I think--if you don't mind, Mr. Latimer, I'll begin the reading
to-morrow." I got up to go. I was through with that garden now.

"But I do mind!"

Silken voice? Not a bit of it! I turned on him so furious I thought I
didn't care what came of it--when over by the great gate-post I saw a
man crouching--Moriway.

I sat down again and pulled the book farther toward the light.

We didn't learn much poetry at the Cruelty, did we, Mag? But I know
some now, just the same. When I began to read I heard only one
word--Moriway--Moriway--Moriway. But I must have--forgotten him after
a time, and the dark garden with the light on only one spot, and the
roses smelling, and Latimer lying perfectly still, his face turned
toward me, for I was reading--listen, I bet I can remember that part of
it if I say it slow--

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:
For all the sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd--Man's forgiveness give--and take!

--when all at once Mr. Latimer put his hand on the book. I looked up
with a start. The shadow by the gate was gone.

Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising look for us
Through this same Garden--and for ONE in vain!

Latimer was saying it without the book and with a queer smile that made
me feel I hadn't quite caught on.

"Thank you, that will do," he went on. "That is enough, Miss--" He
stopped.

I waited.

He did not say "Omar."

I looked him square in the eye--and then I had enough.

"But what in the devil did you make believe for?" I asked.

He smiled.

"If ever you come to lie on your back day and night, year in and year
out, and know that never in your life will it be any different, you may
take pleasure in a bit of excitement and--and learn to pity the under
dog, who, in this case, happened to be a boy that leaped over the gate
as though his heart was in his mouth. Just as you would admire the
nerve of the young lady that came out of the house a few minutes after
in your housekeeper's Sunday gown."

Yes, grin, Torn Dorgan. You won't grin long.