s," she cried,--"very, very!"

"I am glad," he said, wishing she could find it in her heart to tell him
of her joy.

"Forsythe has come to his senses," he thought. "I suppose he has been
unusually loving, confound him!"

The two young people parted, each a little graver than when they met.
"How he does like to be with Helen!" Lois thought, as she went on, and
Gifford sighed impatiently as he wished Forsythe were more worthy of her.

He found Helen walking wearily home alone. "I wanted to say good-by," he
said, taking her hand in his big warm grasp, "and just tell you that I'll
look after him, you know, in any way I can. I'll see him every day,
Helen." She looked at him gratefully, but did not speak. "I wish,"
Gifford continued, hesitating, "you would not take such long walks by
yourself. Why don't you let Lois come with you?"

"She would not care to," she answered briefly.

"Oh, I think you are wrong there," he remonstrated. "She is lonely, too."
Helen seemed to consider. "You know it has been an unhappy summer for
Lois, and if you shut her out of your sorrow"--

"I did not mean to be selfish," she replied, not seeing how much Gifford
spoke for her own sake, "and I do not shut her out; but so long as she
only sympathizes with me, and not with John too, I cannot let her talk to
me about it."

"That is not quite just, Helen," he said; and afterward, Helen
acknowledged this.

She put her hands into his, when he turned to go home, and searched his
face with sad, eager eyes. "You are going to see him,--oh, Giff, you'll
see John!" she said.

Lois saw them talking, as they came to the rectory door, with a dull
feeling of envy. Gifford never seemed to care to talk much to her. What
was that Miss Deborah had said of his once caring for Helen? She had the
good sense to be ashamed of herself for remembering it, but a thought
which comes even into an unwilling mind cannot be driven away without
leaving its impress; the point of view is subtilely and unconsciously
changed. She was not altogether cordial to Gifford, when he said good-by
to her, which he was quick to feel. "He thinks only of Helen," she said
to herself. "I suppose he has forgotten anything he ever said to me, and
my promise, too. I'm ready enough with promises," she thought, with a
bitter little smile. But even this memory could not keep that happiness
which Gifford had seen from shining in her eyes; and when she went
up-stairs, Helen noticed it.

Perhap