e of some kind--slight, perhaps, yet still a tie. And
then, as she crushed her hands together in impotent anger, she again
realized what she was thinking, and began to sob in her grief like a
child. Poor Anne! she would never be a child again. Never again would be
hers that proud dauntless confidence of the untried, which makes all
life seem easy and secure. And here suddenly into her grief darted this
new and withering thought: Had Heathcote perceived her feeling for him?
and had he been playing upon it to amuse himself?

Anne knew vaguely that people treated her as though she was hardly more
than a child. She was conscious of it, but did not dispute it, accepting
it humbly as something--some fault in herself--which she could not
change. But now the sleeping woman was aroused at last, and she blushed
deeply in the darkness at the thought that while she had remained
unconscious, this man of the world had perhaps detected the truth
immediately, and had acted as he had in consequence of it. This was the
deepest sting of all, and again hurriedly she went over all their
conversations a second time; and imagined that she found indications of
what she feared. She rose to her feet with the nervous idea of fleeing
somewhere, she did not know where.

The night had passed. The sun had not yet risen, but the eastern sky was
waiting for his coming with all its banners aflame. Standing by the
window, she watched the first gold rim appear. The small birds were
twittering in the near trees, the earth was awaking to another day, and
for the first time Anne realized the joy of that part of creation which
knows not sorrow or care; for the first time wished herself a flower of
the field, or a sweet-voiced bird singing his happy morning anthem on a
spray. There were three hours yet before breakfast, two before any one
would be stirring. She dressed herself, stole through the hall and down
the stairs, unbolted the side door, and went into the garden; she longed
for the freshness of the morning air. Her steps led her toward the
arbor; she stopped, and turned in another direction--toward the bank of
the little river. Here she began to walk to and fro from a pile of
drift-wood to a bush covered with dew-drops, from the bush back to the
drift-wood again. Her feet were wet, her head ached dully, but she kept
her mind down to the purpose before her. The nightmare of the darkness
was gone; she now faced her grief, and knew what it was, and had dec