he had
been the victim of circumstances; still she thanked God that the truth
had been revealed to him.

"Sometimes I feel as if I had been simply a tool in his hands, and that
I had been worsted in the encounter."

"You have had no reason to think that. You perhaps unconsciously gave
him some information concerning the members of our faith, their number,
their lot, their ambitions,--but you must remember, too, that he had
given some valuable information to you in return. The man may have been
sincere with you from the beginning."

"No! I think neither of us were sincere. The memory of it all is
painful; and I regret exceedingly of having had to play the part of the
coquette."

A great silence stole upon them. He looked out over the river at the
wavelets dancing gleefully in the sunlight, as they ran downstream with
the current as if anxious to outstrip it to the sea. She grew tired of
the little flowers and looked about to gather others. Presently she
bethought herself and took from her bodice what appeared to be a golden
locket. Stephen, attracted by her emotion, saw the trinket at once, its
bright yellow frame glistening in the sun.

"Have you ever seen this?" she asked as she looked at it intently.

He extended his hand in anticipation. She gave it to him.

"Beautiful!" he exclaimed. "How long have you had this?"

"About a year," she replied nonchalantly, and clasped her hands about
her knees.

He leaned forward and continued to study it for the longest time. He
held it near to him and then at arm's length. Then he looked at her.

"It is beautiful," he repeated. "It is a wonderful likeness, and yet I
should say that it does not half express the winsomeness of your
countenance." He smiled generously at her blushes as he returned it to
her.

"It was given me by John Anderson," she declared.

"It is a treasure. And it is richly set."

"He painted it himself and brought it to me after that night at
Peggy's."

"I always said that he possessed extraordinary talents. I should keep
that as a commemoration of your daring enterprise."

"Never. I purpose to destroy all memory of him."

"You have lost nothing, and have gained what books cannot unfold.
Observation and experience are the prime educators."

"But exceedingly severe."

"Come," said Stephen. "Let us not allude to him again. It grieves you.
He has passed from your life forever."

"Forever!" she repeated.

And as if by a mighty effort she dre