s which only waited exquisitely
for kindness and asked for love. No one had ever owned her, no one
really knew her--people only saw her loveliness--no one knew her but
himself--the little beautiful thing--his own--his _own_ little thing!
Nothing on earth should touch her!

Because his thinking ended--as it naturally always did--in such
thoughts as these last, he was obliged to turn back when he saw the
plane trees and walk a few hundred feet in the opposite direction to
give himself time. He even turned a corner and walked down another
street. It was just as he turned that poignant chance brought him face
to face with a girl in deep new mourning with the border of white crepe
in the brim of her close hat. Her eyes were red and half-closed with
recent crying and she had a piteous face. He knew what it all meant and
involuntarily raised his hand in salute. He scarcely knew he did it and
for a second she seemed not to understand. But the next second she burst
out crying and hurriedly took out her handkerchief and hid her face as
she passed. One of the boys lying on the blood-wet mire in Flanders, was
Donal's bitter thought, but he had had his kind hours to recall at the
last moment--and even now she had them too.

Helen Muir from her seat at the window looking into the thick leafage of
the trees saw him turn at the entrance and heard him mount the steps.
The days between them and approaching separation were growing shorter
and shorter. She thought this every morning when she awakened and
realised anew that the worst of it all was that neither knew how short
they were and that the thing which was to happen would be sudden--as
death is always sudden however long one waits. He had never reached even
that _beginning_ of the telling--whatsoever he had to tell. Perhaps it
was coming now. She had tried to prepare herself by endeavouring to
imagine how he would look when he began--a little shy--even a little
lovably awkward? But his engaging smile--his quite darling smile--would
show itself in spite of him as it always did.

But when he came into the room his look was a new one to her. It was
not happy--it was not a free look. There was something like troubled
mental reservation in it--and when had there ever been mental
reservation between them? Oh, no--that must not--must not be _now_! Not
now!

He sat down with his cap in his hand as if he had forgotten to lay it
aside or as if he were making a brief call.

"What has happ