m of Maimie. He would recall how she
looked at different times and places, the turn of her head, the way her
hair fell on her neck, her laugh, the little toss of her chin, and the
curve in her lips. He would remember everything about her. Would she
remember him, or would she forget him? That was the question burning
in his heart; and that question he must have settled, and this was the
time.

But though these thoughts and emotions were rushing through his brain
and blood, he felt strangely quiet and self-controlled as he walked over
to her where she stood beside the piano, and looking into her eyes with
an intensity of gaze she could not meet, said, in a low, quick voice:
"You are going away?"

"Yes," she replied, so startled that the easy smile with which she had
greeted him faded out of her face. "In two weeks I shall be gone."

"Gone!" echoed Ranald. "Yes, you will be gone. Will you forget me?" His
tone was almost stern.

"Why, no," she said, in a surprised voice. "Of course not. Did not you
save my life? You will be far more likely to forget me."

"No," he said, simply, as if that possibility need not be considered. "I
will never forget you. I will always be thinking of you. Will you think
of me?" he persisted.

"Why, certainly. Wouldn't I be a very ungrateful girl if I did not?"

"Ungrateful!" exclaimed Ranald, impatiently. "What I did was nothing.
Forget that. Do you not understand me? I will be thinking of you every
day, in the morning and at night, and I never thought of any one else
before for a day. Will you be thinking of me?"

There was a movement in the kitchen, and they could hear the minister
talking to Harry; and some one was moving toward the door.

"Tell me, Maimie, quick," said Ranald, and though his voice was intense
and stern, there was appeal in it as well.

She took a step nearer him, and looking up into his face, said, in a
whisper, "Yes, Ranald, I will always remember you, and think of you."

Swiftly, almost fiercely, he threw his arms about her, and kissed her
lips, then he stood back looking at her.

"I could not help it," he said, boldly. "You made me."

"Made you?" exclaimed Maimie, her face hot with blushes.

"Yes, you made me. I could not help it," he repeated. "And I do not care
if you are angry. I am glad I did it."

"Glad?" echoed Maimie again, not knowing what to say.

"Yes, glad," he said, exultantly. "Are you?"

She made no reply. The door opened behind them. She