. The feeling came over me that I was in some
magnificent theatre, where I was like a king, having a play acted for me
alone. David was lying upon the ground, with his face buried in the damp
grass.

No matter how much we may read of the effects of great sorrow or great
happiness, they will always, in real life, come to us as something we
never heard of. I involuntarily turned my head aside, feeling that I was
where I had no right to be, that I had intruded my profane presence into
the innermost sanctuary of a human heart.

While I was debating whether to remain concealed, or to go to him, throw
my arms around him, and say some word of comfort, he arose and walked
slowly towards the house. And I noticed that he went by exactly the same
route which the two had taken before him,--which brought to mind Miss
Joey's expression, "as if there'd ben a chain a-drawin' him."

That very evening, as I was sitting at my window, watching the moon rise
over the water, I saw Mary Ellen pass along the road, and sit down upon
a little wooden step which was attached to a fence for convenience in
getting over. She was watching the moon rise, too.

The scene I had so recently witnessed from the buttonwood-tree had made
me desperate. I felt that now, if ever, I must speak. Seizing my hat, I
walked rapidly to the spot, hoping it would be given me in that hour
what to say.

After we had talked awhile about the moon, how it looked, rising over
the waters, as we saw it, and rising over the mountains, as she had seen
it, I turned my face rather aside, and said, quite suddenly,--

"Mary Ellen, I want to speak to you about something important. I hope
you will take it kindly."

She made no answer; seemed startled. I hardly know how I stumbled along,
but I finally found myself speaking of my friendship for David, and of
my aversion to Warren Luce. She appeared not at all displeased, but said
very little. This was not as I expected. I thought she might answer
carelessly,--lightly.

There came a pause. I couldn't seem to get on. She safe with averted
face, her arm on the fence, her head in her hand. In the strong light of
the moon, every feature was revealed. How beautiful she was in the
moonlight! But what was her face saying? A good deal, certainly; but
what?

I stood leaning against the fence.

"Mary Ellen," said I, with a sudden jerk, as it were, "it can't be that
Warren Luce--that he is the one whom--that--that you"--And here I
stoppe