prisoner he'd
feel queer and lost without them for a while. Anne, dearie, here's a
thought keeps coming into my mind. What about Owen Ford? We both know
Leslie was fond of him. Did it ever occur to you that he was fond of
her?"

"It--did--once," admitted Anne, feeling that she might say so much.

"Well, I hadn't any reason to think he was, but it just appeared to me
he MUST be. Now, Anne, dearie, the Lord knows I'm not a match-maker,
and I scorn all such doings. But if I were you and writing to that
Ford man I'd just mention, casual-like, what has happened. That is
what _I_'d do."

"Of course I will mention it when I write him," said Anne, a trifle
distantly. Somehow, this was a thing she could not discuss with Miss
Cornelia. And yet, she had to admit that the same thought had been
lurking in her mind ever since she had heard of Leslie's freedom. But
she would not desecrate it by free speech.

"Of course there is no great rush, dearie. But Dick Moore's been dead
for thirteen years and Leslie has wasted enough of her life for him.
We'll just see what comes of it. As for this George Moore, who's gone
and come back to life when everyone thought he was dead and done for,
just like a man, I'm real sorry for him. He won't seem to fit in
anywhere."

"He is still a young man, and if he recovers completely, as seems
likely, he will be able to make a place for himself again. It must be
very strange for him, poor fellow. I suppose all these years since his
accident will not exist for him."

CHAPTER 33

LESLIE RETURNS

A fortnight later Leslie Moore came home alone to the old house where
she had spent so many bitter years. In the June twilight she went over
the fields to Anne's, and appeared with ghost-like suddenness in the
scented garden.

"Leslie!" cried Anne in amazement. "Where have you sprung from? We
never knew you were coming. Why didn't you write? We would have met
you."

"I couldn't write somehow, Anne. It seemed so futile to try to say
anything with pen and ink. And I wanted to get back quietly and
unobserved."

Anne put her arms about Leslie and kissed her. Leslie returned the
kiss warmly. She looked pale and tired, and she gave a little sigh as
she dropped down on the grasses beside a great bed of daffodils that
were gleaming through the pale, silvery twilight like golden stars.

"And you have come home alone, Leslie?"

"Yes. George Moore's sister came to Montreal and too