e tall young man came walking back.

"There was one thing I wanted particularly to tell you. I sent Dal a
message--a telegram--on Monday night...."

Startled, Carlisle looked up.

"On--_Monday_?... Why--I--"

"Not breaking your confidence, of course--just telling him, in a general
way, to keep his courage up, that I--I thought good news was on the
way.... It was without authority. I realized that. And yet I felt so
sure that--when you had had a little time to think--that would be what
you would wish. In fact, of course I knew it...."

Their eyes met, almost for the first time, and a sudden constraint fell
upon the girl.

"But I don't see," she said, with some difficulty--"if you telegraphed
him that--on Monday--I don't understand--"

"The telegram went astray. I went to the office here last night and had
them find out. It should have reached Weymouth the first thing yesterday
morning. It didn't arrive till about three in the afternoon. But even
then.... You see, he could hardly have expected a reply to his letter
till Wednesday. That's to-day--"

These two sat looking at each other: and Cally's tongue was no longer
free as a hurt child's. She seemed not to find it possible to speak at
all now. The young man from the other world was going on, with his
strange composure.

"So you see how much was pure blind chance, that couldn't be guarded
against. If he had only waited.... If he had only trusted you--two hours
longer...."

Surely he had more to say, much more; yet he ended abruptly, speech
being evidently not desired of him. The girl had suddenly dropped her
face into her hands.

Cally did not want to look at this man any more; could not bear it
indeed. His eyes, which had always seemed gifted to convey hidden
meanings, had well outstripped the words of his mouth, triumphing
strangely over all that he knew about her. Quite clearly they had said
to her just then: "_I_ would have trusted you, you know...." And somehow
that seemed sad to her, she did not know why. Why, indeed, should Jack
Dalhousie have trusted her?...

Something moved in Cally in this moment which might have been the still
small voice, and her weakness grew apace. She turned precipitately, put
an arm on the back of the gold divan where she sat, and buried her face
in it. Her struggle now was against tears; and it was to be a losing
struggle. She did not cry easily. It always seemed rather like tearing
loose something within her, something i