partments for Miss Duveen, and for meeting the cost of her immediate
maintenance and fees, together with other incidental disbursements. We
have also secured authority to watch her interests in regard to any
pension or gratuity to which she may be entitled as a minor and orphan
of a non-commissioned officer killed in action...."

In the drawing-room, Yvonne very softly was playing a setting of Edgar
Allan Poe's exquisite verses, _To One in Paradise_, and such is the
magic of music wedded to poetry that it opened a door in Paul's heart
and afforded him a glimpse of his inner self. He had neglected poor
little Flamby, and his sensitive mind refused to contemplate her
loneliness now that her last friend had been taken from her.

"Thou wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine--
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine...."

Paul rose and quietly entered the drawing-room. Yvonne looked up as he
opened the door, and he saw that her eyes were dim. He knelt on a corner
of the music-chair and clasped his arms tightly about her shoulders,
pressing her cheek against his. As she ceased playing and turned her
head he kissed her ardently, holding her fast and watching her with
those yearning eyes whose gaze can make a woman's heart beat faster. She
leaned back against him, sighing.

"Do you know that that is the first time you have kissed me since you
returned?" she asked.

"Yvonne, forgive me. Don't misunderstand. You never doubt me, do you?"

"Sometimes--I don't seem to matter to you so much as I did."

Never releasing her he moved around so that they were side by side upon
the narrow seat. "You matter more than anything in the world," he said.
"You are so near to my heart day and night that I seem to have you
always in my arms." He spoke softly, his lips very close to Yvonne's;
her golden hair brushed his forehead. "You are the music to which I
write the words. The memory of your lightest action since the very hour
we met I treasure and revere. Without you I am nothing. All I dream and
all I hope I dream and hope for you."

Yvonne ran her white fingers through his hair and looked up into his
face. Paul kissed her, laughing happily. "My darling Yvonne," he
whispered, "Do I sometimes forget to make love to you? It is only
because I feel that you are so sure of me. Do you know that since I left
you I have