might have listened to?"

"It is such a desolate, lonely place, I thought no one would stumble
upon me, and I have been there so often without meeting a living thing
except the crabs and plover."

"You are no longer a child, and such rashness is altogether
unpardonable. What do you suppose my sister would think of your
imprudent obstinacy?"

They walked another mile, and again Salome convulsively pressed the
cool, steady, strong hand, in which hers lay hot and quivering.

"Dr. Grey, tell me the truth,--don't torture me."

"What shall I tell you? You torture yourself."

"Did you hear what I was saying to my own heart?"

"I heard you repeating some lines which certainly should possess no
relevancy for the real feeling of my young friend."

She snatched her fingers from his, and he knew she covered her face
with them.

They reached the gate at the end of the avenue, and Salome stopped
suddenly, as the lights from the front windows flashed out on the
lawn.

"Go in, and leave me."

She threw herself on the sward, under one of the elm-trees, and leaned
her head against its trunk.

"I shall do no such thing, unless you desire the entire household to
comment upon your reckless conduct."

"Oh, Dr. Grey, I care little now what the whole world thinks or says!
Let me be quiet, or I shall go mad."

"No; come into the house, and sing something to compensate me for the
anxiety and fatigue you have cost me. I do not often ask a favor of
you, and certainly in this instance you will not refuse to grant my
request."

She did not reply, and he bent down and softly stroked the hair that
was damp with dew and sea-fog.

The long-pent storm broke in convulsive sobs, and she trembled from
head to foot, while tears poured over her burning cheeks.

"Poor child! Can you not confide in me?"

"Dr. Grey, will you forget all that has passed to-day? Will you try
never to think of it again?"

"On condition that you never repeat the offence."

"You do not despise me?"

"No."

"You pity me?"

"I pity any human being who is so unfortunate as to possess your
wilful, perverse, passionate disposition. Unless you overcome this
dangerous tendency of character, you may expect only wretchedness and
humiliation in coming years. I am sincerely sorry for you, but I tell
you unhesitatingly, that I find it difficult to tolerate your grave
and obtrusive faults."

She raised her clasped hands, and said, brokenly,--

"This is the last