girl stands all
confused for a while, and then goes softly to the door, watching him
till he is out of sight.

The story is ended--the girl opens her eyes.

And ended, too, the pleasant self-forgetfulness with which she had
watched the scene as acted by another--in place of it come doubts and
questionings out of the dark.

"What shall I do if he comes--what shall I do?"

Already she seemed to hear footsteps outside, her heart beat so
violently, she pressed her hand to her breast. And it was a relief
when no one came after all, and she hoped and hoped he would not come
at all, to spoil the pretty fairy story.

"But then--if he should not come? If he had been only jesting, after
all." That was worse still. "If he would only come--but only to the
window--look in at the flowers, but not to knock three times, no...."

She went back to the beginning again--a girl stood in the front room,
pouring warm milk through a big strainer....

A knocking at the window--three soft, short taps.

The girl sat up with a start, holding her breath. She raised her head,
and looked anxiously toward the window. The fuchsia and the balsamine
gazed at her from the sill with questioning eyes: "What is this you
are doing, Pansy?"

And behind the flowers was a dark shadow, against the blind. She
_felt_ that he was looking straight through at her: "I am here,
Pansy."

The shadow seemed calling her to account for something she had
promised. She hid her face in the pillow, and pulled the quilt over
her head. Her heart throbbed till the bed itself seemed to shake.

"_And he will not beg and pray and ask, as the others do_."

Slowly the girl drew herself up and remained sitting on the edge of
the bed, her hands in her lap.

"If he would only knock again, and give me time to think--to
think...."

The dark shadow did not move, the fuchsia and the balsamine stood
breathless.

Quietly she slipped to the floor and stepped forward doubtfully a pace
or two. There was a movement of the shadow; the girl trembled, and
caught at the bedpost for support.

The shadow stopped at once, and stood as before, calling her to
account.

With eyes cast down, she moved again towards the door--slowly,
hesitatingly, as if her heart were willing, but her limbs refused. She
could feel the shadow gliding round outside to the doorway. Her heart
throbbed as if it would burst; her fingers grasped feverishly at the
latch.

Then slowly, silently, the latch was r