Yes, this is the end."

As he echoed the words Warwick rose suddenly and went to talk with Mark,
whose sketch was done. Sylvia sat a moment as if quite forgetful where
she was, so absorbing was some thought or emotion. Presently she seemed
to glow and kindle with an inward fire; over face and forehead rushed an
impetuous color, her eyes shone, and her lips trembled with the
fluttering of her breath. Then a panic appeared to seize her, for,
stealing noiselessly away, she hurried to her room, and covering up her
face as if to hide it even from herself, whispered to that full heart
of hers, with quick coming tears that belied the words--

"Now I know why I am happy!"

How long she lay there weeping and smiling in the moonlight she never
knew. Her sister's call broke in upon the first love dream she had ever
woven for herself, and she went down to bid the friends good night. The
hall was only lighted by the moon, and in the dimness of the shadow
where she stood, no one saw traces of that midsummer shower on her
cheeks, or detected the soft trouble in her eye, but for the first time
Moor felt her hand tremble in his own and welcomed the propitious omen.

Being an old-fashioned gentleman, Mr. Yule preserved in his family the
pleasant custom of hand-shaking, which gives such heartiness to the
morning and evening greetings of a household. Moor liked and adopted it;
Warwick had never done so, but that night he gave a hand to Prue and
Mark with his most cordial expression, and Sylvia felt both her own
taken in a warm lingering grasp, although he only said "good by!" Then
they went; but while the three paused at the door held by the beauty of
the night, back to them on the wings of the wind came Warwick's voice
singing the song that Sylvia loved. All down the avenue, and far along
the winding road they traced his progress, till the strain died in the
distance leaving only the echo of the song to link them to the singer.

When evening came again Sylvia waited on the lawn to have the meeting
over in the dark, for love made her very shy. But Moor came alone, and
his first words were,

"Comfort me, Sylvia, Adam is gone. He went as unexpectedly as he came,
and when I woke this morning a note lay at my door, but my friend was
not there."

She murmured some stereotyped regret, but there was a sharp pain at her
heart till there came to her the remembrance of Warwick's question,
uttered on the spot where she was standing. Some solac