spring up into
a whole palace of beauty; but it is in the air,--it is in the air! You
know what I mean: it must always be giving with me; she will never care.
She never could, having loved once. And it is curious, Helen, but in a
certain paradoxical way I'm content she shouldn't. She would not be the
woman she is, if she could love twice."

Helen smiled in the darkness. "Gifford"--she began.

But he interrupted her, flinging his head back, in impatient despair.
"No, it cannot be, or it would have been, don't you see? Don't encourage
me, Helen; the kindest thing you can do is to kill any hope the instant
it shows its head. There was a time, I was fool enough to think--it was
just after the engagement was broken. But I soon saw from her letters
there was no chance for me."

"But Gifford,"--Helen almost forgot to protect Lois, in her anxiety to
help him,--"you must not think that. They were never engaged."

Gifford stood still and looked at her; then he said something in a low
voice, which she could not hear.

"I must not say another word," she said hurriedly. "I've no right even
to speak as I did. But oh, Gifford, I could not see you lose a chance
of happiness. Life is so short, and there is so much sorrow! I even
selfishly wanted the happiness of your joy, for my own sake."

Still Gifford did not speak; he turned sharply on his heel, and began his
restless walk. His silence was getting unbearable, when he stopped, and
said gently, "I thank you, Helen. I do not understand it all, but that's
no matter. Only, don't you see, it doesn't make any difference? If she
had been going to care, I should have known it long ago."

This was very vague to Helen; she wondered if Lois had refused him again.
But Gifford began to talk quietly of his life in Mercer, and she did not
venture to say anything more. "After all, they must work out their own
salvation," she thought. "No one can help them, when they both know the
facts."

She listened a little absently to Gifford, who was speaking of the lack
of any chance for advancement in Mercer. "But really," he added, "I ought
not to go too far away from my aunts, now; and I believe that the highest
development of character can come from the most commonplace necessities
of life." Helen sighed; she wondered if this commonplace of Ashurst
were her necessity? For again she was searching for her place in the
world,--the place that needed her, and was to give her the happiness of
usefulness