have liked to fight out his battle that day. Should
he go on spending his days and nights in a slowly increasing torment?
The longer he fought the less chance he had of victory. Victory! There
could be none. What victory could be won over a strange ineradicable
susceptibility to the sweetness, charm, mystery of a woman? He plodded
the fragrant fields with bent head, in despair. Loneliness hurt him as
much as anything. And a new pang, the fiercest and most insupportable,
had been added to his miseries. Jealousy! Thought of the father of Mel
Iden's child haunted him, flayed him, made him feel himself ignoble
and base. There was no help for that. And this fiend of jealousy added
fuel to his love. Only long passionate iteration of his assurance of
principle and generosity subdued that frenzy and at length gave him
composure. Perhaps this had some semblance to victory.

Lane returned to town weaker in one way than when he had left, yet
stronger in another. Upon the outskirts of Middleville he crossed the
river road and sat down upon a stone wall. The afternoon was far spent
and the sun blazing red. Lane wiped his moist face and fanned himself
with his hat. Behind him the shade of a wooded garden or park looked
inviting. Back in the foliage he espied the vine-covered roof of an
old summer house.

A fresh young voice burst upon his meditations. "Hello, Daren Lane."

Lane turned in surprise to behold a girl in white, standing in the
shade of trees beyond the wall. Somewhere he had seen that beautiful
golden head, the dark blue, almost purple eyes.

"Good afternoon. You startled me," said Lane.

"I called you twice."

"Indeed? I beg pardon. I didn't hear."

"Don't you remember me?" Her tone was one of pique and doubt.

Then he remembered her. "Oh, of course. Bessy Bell! You must forgive
me. I've been ill and upset lately. These bad spells of mine magnify
time. It seems long since the Junior Prom."

"Oh, you're ill," she returned, compassionately. "You do look pale
and--won't you come in? It's dusty and hot there. Come. I'll take you
where it's nice and cool."

"Thank you. I'll be glad to."

She led him to a green, fragrant nook, where a bench with cushions
stood half-hidden under heavy foliage. Lane caught a glimpse of a
winding flagged path, and in the distance a cottage among the trees.

"Bessy, do you live here?" he asked. "It's pretty."

"Yes, this is my home. It's too damn far from town, I'll say. I'm
burie