eath. This
twilight sanctuary had never been invaded before, and she rose hastily.
The course of an irregular path that followed the lake was broken here
by the creek's miniature chasm, but adventurous pedestrians might gain
the top and continue over a rough rustic bridge along the edge of Mrs.
Owen's cornfield. Sylvia peered down, expecting to see Marian or
Blackford, but a stranger was approaching, catching at bushes to
facilitate his ascent. Sylvia stepped back, assuming it to be a cottager
who had lost his way. A narrow-brimmed straw hat rose above the
elderberry bushes, and with a last effort the man stood on level ground,
panting from the climb. He took off his hat and mopped his face as he
glanced about. Sylvia had drawn back, but as the stranger could not go
on without seeing her she stepped forward, and they faced each other, in
a little plot of level ground beside the defile.

"Pardon me!" he exclaimed, still breathing hard; and then his eyes met
hers in a long gaze. His gray eyes searched her dark ones for what
seemed an interminable time. Sylvia's hand sought the maple but did not
touch it; and the keen eyes of the stranger did not loosen their hold of
hers. A breeze blowing across the cornfield swept over them, shaking the
maple leaves, and rippled the surface of the lake. The dusk, deepening
slowly, seemed to shut them in together.

"Pardon me, again! I hope I didn't frighten you! I am Mr. Bassett,
Marian's father."

"And I am Sylvia Garrison. I am staying--"

"Oh," he laughed, "you needn't tell me! They told me at the supper-table
all about you and that you and Marian are fast friends."

"I knew you were coming; they were speaking of it this morning."

They had drawn closer together during this friendly exchange. Again
their eyes met for an instant, then he surveyed her sharply from head to
foot, as he stood bareheaded leaning on his stick.

"I must be going," said Sylvia. "There's a path through the corn that
Mrs. Owen lets me use. They'll begin to wonder what's become of me."

"Why not follow the path to the lane,--I think there is a lane at the
edge of the field,--and I will walk to the house with you. The path
through the corn must be a little rough, and it's growing dark."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Bassett."

"I had no idea of meeting any one when I came out. I usually take a
little walk after supper when I'm here, and I wanted to get all the car
smoke out of my lungs. I was glad to get out of