hing but a bird of omen," she said to
herself, "at least you needn't show it! Oh, this world!" then, "What if
he is not from home?"

In the early winter she had advanced several pretexts for not troubling
Roselands, had found them accepted by Jacqueline with an utter lack of
comment, and had ceased to make them. She kept away, and her cousin made
no complaint. What pretext, now, she wondered, would serve to explain
this visit? She thought that pretext would be needed at first--just at
first. And what if Lewis Rand were at home?

He was not at home. Jacqueline met her upon the great doorstone, kissed
her, and held her hand, but made no exclamation of surprise and asked no
questions. The coach and four, with old Philip and Mingo, rolled away to
the stable, and the cousins entered the cool, wide hall. "You will lay
aside your bonnet?" said Jacqueline. "Such a lovely bonnet, Unity!--and
your blue lutestring! Come to my room."

In the chamber Unity untied her blue bonnet-strings and laid the huge
scoop of straw upon the white counterpane; then, at the mirror, slowly
drew off her long gloves, and took from her silken bag her small
handkerchief. The action of her hands, now deliberate, now hurried, was
strange for Unity, whose habit it was to be light and sure. "Do you
remember," she asked, with her face still to the mirror,--"do you
remember the last time I wore this gown?"

"You wore it," said Jacqueline, in a trembling voice, "to church, in
August--to Saint John's."

"Yes. That Sunday when all the world was there. I smell the honeysuckle
again, and hear FitzWhyllson's viol! That was our last old, happy day
together."

"Was it?"

"Yes, it was. The very next day the world seemed somehow to change."

"Isn't that a way the world has?" asked Jacqueline. "Change and change
and change again--"

"Yes," answered Unity, "but never to the same, never to the same
again--"

A silence fell in the room that was all flowered chintz. Unity, raising
her eyes to the glass, saw within it her cousin where she leaned against
a chair--saw the face, the eyes, the lips--saw the mask off. Unity
gasped, wheeled, ran to the chair, and, falling on her knees beside it,
clasped her cousin in her arms. "O Jacqueline! O Jacqueline,
Jacqueline!"

Jacqueline rested her hands upon the other's shoulders. "Why did you
come to-day, Unity? The last time was December."

"I came--I came"--sobbed Unity, "just to bring you their love--Uncle
Dick's an