r of
twelve; it was midnight, and he had not come. The thirtieth of June was
over, and he had failed.

One by one she counted those strokes as they fell, in the vain hope that
she must be mistaken, that it was only eleven. When she realized it she
rose from her solitary watch with a long, low sigh. He had failed; he
had not come. She would not judge him; but he had not kept that promise
which was more solemn to her than any oath. There were many perils, both
by sea and land; the steamer might have run ashore, the train may have
been delayed; but if the appointment had been for her to keep she would
have kept it in spite of all obstacles and all cost.

She rose from her long dull watch; she tried to cross the room and ring
the bell, but the strength of her limbs failed her. She did not fall,
she sunk into a senseless, almost helpless heap on the floor; and there,
long after midnight, her servants found her, and for some time believed
her dead. That was the thirtieth of June--for which she had hoped,
worked, and prayed as woman never did before.

They raised her from the ground and took her to her room. One kinder
than the others sat by her until the dawn, when the dark eyes opened
with a look in them which was never to die away again.

"This is the first of July," she said, faintly.

And the maid, seeing that the morning had dawned, said:

"Yes, it is July."

She never attempted to rise that day, but lay with her face turned to
the wall, turned from the sunlight and the birds' song, the bloom of
flowers, the ripple of leaves, the warmth and light of the summer,
thinking only of the mill-stream and the words that for her had so
terrible a prophecy:

"A ring in pledge I gave her,
And vows of love we spoke--
Those vows are all forgotten,
The ring asunder broke."

Over and over again they rang through her brain and her heart, while she
fought against them, while she lay trying to deaden her senses, to
stifle her reason, doing deadly battle with the fears that assailed her.
She would not give in; she would not doubt him; there would come to her
in time some knowledge; she should know why he had failed.

Failed, oh, God! how hard the word was to say--failed. Why, if every
star in the sky had fallen at her feet it would not have seemed so
wonderful.

Perhaps his mother--that proud, haughty woman, who seemed to trample the
world under her feet--perhaps she had prevented his coming; but he would