hite
covering. A farmboy whistling along the highway saw her in the lonely
cemetery and trudged on silently, but he did not know that the woman
tending her graves did not weep, or that when she turned slowly away,
looking back at last from the iron gates, it was not of the past she
thought, nor of the heartache buried there, but of a world newly
purified, with long, broad vistas of hope and aspiration lengthening
before her. But we must not too long leave the bell--an absurd
contrivance of wire and knob--that tinkled rather absently and eerily in
the kitchen pantry. Let us repeat once more and for the last time:--

Sylvia was reading in her grandfather's library when the bell tinkled.

Truly enough, a book lay in her lap, but it may be that, after all, she
had not done more than skim its pages--an old "Life of Nelson" that had
been a favorite of her grandfather's. Sylvia rose, put down the book,
marked it carefully as on that first occasion which so insistently comes
back to us as we look in upon her. Mary appeared at the library door,
but withdrew, seeing that Sylvia was answering the bell.

Some one was stamping vigorously on the step, and as Sylvia opened the
door, Dan Harwood stood there, just as on that other day; now, to be
sure, he seemed taller than then, though it must be only the effect of
his long ulster.

"How do you do, Sylvia," he said, and stepped inside without waiting for
a parley like that in which Sylvia had engaged him on that
never-to-be-forgotten afternoon in June. "You oughtn't to try to hide;
it isn't fair for one thing, and hiding is impossible for another."

"It's too bad you came," said Sylvia, "for I should have been home
to-morrow. I came just because I wanted to be alone for a day."

"I came," said Dan, laughing, "because I didn't like being alone."

"I hope Aunt Sally isn't troubled about me. I hadn't time to tell her I
was coming here; I don't believe I really thought about it; I simply
wanted to come back here once more before the house is turned over to
strangers."

"Oh, Aunt Sally wasn't worried half as much as I was. She said you were
all right; she has great faith in your ability to take care of yourself.
I'm pretty sure of it, too," he said, and bent his eyes upon her keenly.

There was nothing there to dismay him; her olive cheeks still glowed
with color from her walk, and her eyes were clear and steady.

"Did you see the paper--to-day's paper?" he asked, when they were s