ad gone from the hill? Never to see her light shine
down on him through the northern gap in the pines at night! Never to
feel that perhaps her eyes rested on him now and then as he went about
his work in the valley fields! Never to stoop with a glad thrill over
the first spring flowers because it was his privilege to take them to
her! Jeffrey groaned aloud. No, he could not go up to see her that
night; he must wait--he must strengthen himself.

Then his heart rebuked him. This was selfishness; this was putting his
own feelings before hers--a thing he had sworn never to do. Perhaps
she needed him--perhaps she had wondered why he had not come to offer
her such poor service as might be in his power. He turned and went
down through the orchard lane, taking the old field-path across the
valley and up the hill, which he had traversed so often and so
joyfully in boyhood. It was dark now, and a few stars were shining in
the silvery sky. The wind sighed among the pines as he walked under
them. Sometimes he felt that he must turn back--that his pain was
going to master him; then he forced himself to go on.

The old grey house where Sara lived seemed bleak and stricken in the
dull light, with its leafless vines clinging to it. There were no
lights in it. It looked like a home left soulless.

Jeffrey went around to the garden door and knocked. He had expected
the maid to open it, put Sara herself came.

"Why, Jeff," she said, with pleasure in her tones. "I am so glad to
see you. I have been wondering why you had not come before."

"I did not think you would want to see me yet," he said hurriedly. "I
have thought about you every hour--but I feared to intrude."

"_You_ couldn't intrude," she said gently. "Yes, I have wanted to see
you, Jeff. Come into the library."

He followed her into the room where they had always sat in his rare
calls. Sara lighted the lamp on the table. As the light shot up she
stood clearly revealed in it--a tall, slender woman in a trailing gown
of grey. Even a stranger, not knowing her age, would have guessed it
to be what it was, yet it would have been hard to say what gave the
impression of maturity. Her face was quite unlined--a little pale,
perhaps, with more finely cut outlines than those of youth. Her eyes
were clear and bright; her abundant brown hair waved back from her
face in the same curves that Jeffrey had noted in the purple-gowned
child of six, under the pines. Perhaps it was the fine pat