r, some lights suddenly winking above the horizon
announced the approach of Hardville. Rankin stood up, slipped on his
rough overcoat, and sat down again. He drew a long breath, and began
evenly: "I know you won't misunderstand me if I try to say one more
thing. I probably won't see you again for years, and it would be a great
joy to me to be sure that you know how hearty is my good-will to you.
I'm afraid you can't think of me without pain, because I was the cause
of such discomfort to you, but I know you are too generous to blame me
for what was an involuntary hurt. Of course I ought to have known how
your guardians would feel about your knowing me--"

"Oh, _why_ should you be so that all that happened!" cried Lydia
suddenly. "If it was too hard for me, why couldn't you have made it
easier--thought differently--acted like other people. _Would_ you--if I
hadn't--if we had gone on knowing each other?"

Rankin turned very white. "No," he said; "I couldn't."

"It seems to me," said Lydia hurriedly, "that, without being willing to
concede anything to their ideas, you ask a great deal of your friends."

"Yes," said Rankin, "I do. It's a hard struggle I'm in with myself and
the world--oh, evidently much too hard for you even to look at from a
distance." His voice broke. "The best thing I can do for you is to stay
away--" He rose, and stepped into the aisle. "But you are so kind--you
will let me serve you in any other way, if I can--ever. If I can ever do
something that's hard for you to do--you must know that I stand as ready
as even Dr. Melton to do it for you if I can."

Indeed, for the moment, as Lydia looked up into his kind, strong face,
his impersonal tenderness made him seem almost such an old, tried friend
as her godfather; almost as unlikely to expect any intimate personal
return from her.

"You must remember," he went on, "the great joy it gave us both to-day
even to see an act of kindness. Give me an opportunity to do one for you
if I ever can."

It already seemed to Lydia as though he had gone away from her, as
though this were but a beneficent memory of him lingering by her side.
She hardly noticed when he left her alone in the car.

The conductor started up, wakened by the silence, and announced wildly,
"Wardsboro', Wardsboro'!"

"No, it ain't; it's the first stop in Hardville," contradicted the
motorman, sticking his head in through the door. "Turn on them lights!"

As the glass bulbs leaped to a da