iends. Your joys and sorrows will be to
me as my own. When another love comes to bless your life, Esterbrook,
I will be glad. And now, good-night. I want to be alone now."

At the doorway he turned to look back at her, standing in all her
sweet stateliness in the twilight duskness, and the keen realization
of all he had lost made him bow his head with a quick pang of regret.

Then he went out into the darkness of the summer night.

An hour later he stood alone on the little point where he had parted
with Magdalen the night before. A restless night wind was moaning
through the pines that fringed the bank behind him; the moon shone
down radiantly, turning the calm expanse of the bay into a milk-white
sheen.

He took Marian's ring from his pocket and kissed it reverently. Then
he threw it from him far out over the water. For a second the diamond
flashed in the moonlight; then, with a tiny splash, it fell among the
ripples.

Esterbrook turned his face to the Cove, lying dark and silent in the
curve between the crescent headlands. A solitary light glimmered from
the low eaves of the Barrett cottage.

Tomorrow, was his unspoken thought, I will be free; to go back to
Magdalen.

An Invitation Given on Impulse

It was a gloomy Saturday morning. The trees in the Oaklawn grounds
were tossing wildly in the gusts of wind, and sodden brown leaves were
blown up against the windows of the library, where a score of girls
were waiting for the principal to bring the mail in.

The big room echoed with the pleasant sound of girlish voices and low
laughter, for in a fortnight school would close for the holidays, and
they were all talking about their plans and anticipations.

Only Ruth Mannering was, as usual, sitting by herself near one of the
windows, looking out on the misty lawn. She was a pale, slender girl,
with a sad face, and was dressed in rather shabby black. She had no
special friend at Oaklawn, and the other girls did not know much about
her. If they had thought about it at all, they would probably have
decided that they did not like her; but for the most part they simply
overlooked her.

This was not altogether their fault. Ruth was poor and apparently
friendless, but it was not her poverty that was against her. Lou
Scott, who was "as poor as a church mouse," to quote her own frank
admission, was the most popular girl in the seminary, the boon
companion of the richest girls, and in demand with everybody. But