he first time in twenty months,
standing by her father with those who gathered about the general's
grave, and as soon as he could leave the friends who came home with
him and his sister, he hurried to the Culpeppers'. As he left his
home, he could see Molly sitting on the veranda behind one of the
pillars of great pride. She moved down the steps toward the gate to
meet him. It was dusk,--deep dusk,--but he knew her figure and was
thrilled with joy. They walked silently from the gate toward the
veranda, and the youth's soul was moved too deeply for words. So
deeply indeed was his being stirred, that he did not notice in his
eagerness to bring their souls together how she was holding him away
from her heart.

The yellow roses were blooming, and the pink roses were in bud. They
strayed idly to the side of the house farthest from the street, and
there they found the lilacs, heavy with blooms; they were higher than
the girl's head,--a little thicket of them,--and behind the thicket
was a rustic seat made of the grape-vines. He stepped toward the
chair, pulling her by the hand, and she followed. He tried to gather
her into his arms, but she slid away from him and cried, "No--no,
Bob--no!"

"Why--why--why! what's wrong?" gasped the youth.

The girl sank on the seat and covered her face with her hands. He
touched her shoulder and her hair with his finger-tips, and she
shivered away from him. "Oh, Bob--Bob, Bob!--" she cried in agony,
still looking at the grass before her.

The young man looked at her in perplexity. "Why, dear--why--why,
darling--why, Molly," he stammered, "why--why--"

She rose and faced him. She gripped herself, and he could feel the
unnatural firmness in her voice as she spoke.

"Bob, I am not the little girl you left." He put out his arms, but she
shrank back among the lilacs; their perfume was in her face, and she
was impressed with that odd feeling one sometimes has of having had
some glimpse of it all before. She knew that she would say, "I am not
worthy--not worthy any more--Bob, do you understand?"

And when he had stepped to ward her again with piteous pleading
face,--a face that she had never seen before, yet seemed always to
have known,--she felt that numb sense of familiarity with it all, and
it did not pain her as she feared it would when he cried, "Oh--God,
Molly--nothing you ever could do would make you unworthy of
me--Molly, Molly, what is it?" The anguish in his face flashed back
from