rms hung listlessly by her side. She
evaded little domestic tasks. Though her clothes were new, a girl can
always find sewing and stitching. A certain shirtwaist needed slight
adjustment, but her fingers fumbled a simple task. She passed the time
somehow till half past four. At that hour there was a ring at the outer
door. In the absorption of her grief she did not hear it, though it was
"his" hour. A step sounded on the stairs, and this she heard; but she
thought it was Miss Goodman bringing tea.

Then, brusquely, without any knock, the door opened, and she saw before
her Carshaw.

"Oh!" she screamed, in an ecstasy of joy, and was in his arms.

The rope which bound her had snapped thus suddenly for the simple reason
that Carshaw had promised never to come again, and was very strict, as
she knew, in keeping his pledged word. Therefore, until the moment when
her distraught eyes took in the fact of his presence, she had not the
faintest hope or thought of seeing him for many a day to come, if ever.

Seeing him all at once in the midst of her desert of despair, her reason
swooned, all fixed principles capsized, and instinct swept her
triumphantly, as the whirlwind bears a feather, to his ready embrace.
He, for his part, had broken his promise because he could not help it.
He had to come--so he came. His dismissal had been too sudden to be
credible, to find room in his brain. It continued to have something of
the character of a dream, and he was here now to convince himself that
the dream was true.

Moreover, in her manner of sending him away, in some of her words, there
had been something unreal and unconvincing, with broken hints of love,
even as she denied love, which haunted and puzzled his memory. If he had
made a thousand promises he would still have to return to her.

"Well," said he, his face alight for joy as she moaned on his breast,
"what is it all about? You unreliable little half of a nerve, Winnie!"

"I can't help it; kiss me--only once!" panted Winifred, with tears
streaming down her up-turned face.

Carshaw needed no bidding. Kiss her once! Well, a man should smile.

"What is it all about?" he demanded, when Winifred was quite breathless.
"Am I loved, then?"

Her forehead was on his shoulder, and she did not answer.

"It seems so," he whispered. "Silence is said to mean consent. But why,
then, was I not loved the day before yesterday?"

Still Winifred dared not answer. The frenzy was passing, th