in the humour quivered on the girl's lips.

"I don't like to seem too urgent," she returned, "but will you tell me
why?"

"Why?" he repeated bitterly. "There are a hundred why's if you want them,
and each one sufficient in itself. I am a beggar, a failure, a wreck, a
broken-down soldier from the ranks. Do you think if it were anything less
than pure madness on your part that I should stand here a moment and talk
like this?--but because I am in love with you, Betty, it doesn't follow
that I'm an utter ass."

"That's flattering," responded Betty, "but it doesn't explain just what I
want to know. Look me straight in the eyes--no evading now--and answer what
I ask. Do you mean that we are to be neighbours and nothing more? Do you
mean that we are to shake hands when we meet and drop them afterward? Do
you mean that we are to stand alone together as we are standing now--that
you are never to take me in your arms again? Do you mean this, my dear?"

"I mean--just that," he answered between his teeth.

For a moment Betty looked at him with a laugh of disbelief. Then, biting
the smile upon her lips, she held out her hand with a friendly gesture.

"I am quite content that it should be so," she said in a cordial voice. "We
shall be very good neighbours, I fancy, and if you have any trouble with
your crops, don't hesitate to ask for my advice. I've become an excellent
farmer, the Major says, you know." She caught up her long black skirt and
walked on, but when he would have followed, she motioned him back with a
decisive little wave. "You really mustn't--I can't think of allowing it,"
she insisted. "It is putting my neighbours to unheard-of trouble to make
them see me home. Why, if I once begin the custom, I shall soon have old
Rainy-day Jones walking back with me when I go to buy his cows." Still
smiling she passed under the battle-scarred elms and stepped over the
ruined gate into the road.

Leaning against a twisted tree in the old drive, Dan watched her until her
black dress fluttered beyond the crumbled wall. Then he gave a cry that
checked her hastening feet.

"Betty!" he called, and at his voice she turned.

"What is it, dear friend?" she asked, and, standing amid the scattered
stones, looked back at him with pleading eyes.

"Betty!" he cried again, stretching out his arms; and as she ran toward
him, he went down beside the ashes of Chericoke, and lay with his face half
hidden against a broken urn.

"I am coming,