ame waking and crowding to fill out the measure of his
unconsummated passion, and they had all one face and one likeness. Late,
late he was still going on with it....

"And so," he wrote, "I have come to the part of the story that was not
in the picture, that I never knew. The dragon is slain and the knight
has just begun to understand that the Princess for whom it was done is
still a Princess; and though you have fought and bled for them,
princesses must be approached humbly. And he did not know in the least
how to go about it for in all his life the knight could never have
spoken to one before. You have to think of that when you think of him at
all, and of how he must stand even with his heart at her feet, hardly
daring to so much as call her attention to it. For though he knows very
well that it is quite enough to hope for and more than he deserves, to
be able to spend his whole life serving her, love, great love such as
one may have for princesses, aches, aches, my dear, and needs a
comforting touch sometimes and a word of recognition to make it beat
more steadily and more serviceably for every day."

He went out that night to post his letter when it was done, for though
there was not time for an answer to it, he was going down to her on
Saturday, he liked to think of it running before him as a torch to light
the way which, even while he slept, he was so happily traversing. He was
quite trembling with the journey he had come, when on Saturday she met
him, floating in summer draperies and holding out a slim ringed hand,
and a cool cheek to glance past his lips like a swallow.

"You had my letter, dear?"

"Such a lovely letter, Peter, I couldn't think of trying to answer it."

"Oh, it wasn't to be answered--at least not by another----" He released
her lest she should be troubled by his trembling.

"I should think not!" She was more than gracious to him. "It's a wonder
to me, Peter, you never thought of writing. You have such a beautiful
vocabulary." But even that did not daunt him, for he knew as soon as he
had looked on her again, that loving Eunice Goodward was enough of an
occupation.

V

The senior partner of Weatheral, Lessing & Co., was exactly the sort of
man, when his physicians ordered him abroad for two years, with the
intimation that there might even worse happen to him, to make so little
fuss about it that he got four inches of type in a leading paper the
morning of his departure and very