vealed, and her doubt was still unsatisfied.

Rena was occupied with this thought when her lover next came to see
her. Tryon came up the sanded walk from the gate and spoke pleasantly
to the nurse, a good-looking yellow girl who was seated on the front
steps, playing with little Albert. He took the boy from her arms, and
she went to call Miss Warwick.

Rena came out, followed by the nurse, who offered to take the child.

"Never mind, Mimy, leave him with me," said Tryon.

The nurse walked discreetly over into the garden, remaining within
call, but beyond the hearing of conversation in an ordinary tone.

"Rena, darling," said her lover, "when shall it be? Surely you won't
ask me to wait a week. Why, that's a lifetime!"

Rena was struck by a brilliant idea. She would test her lover. Love
was a very powerful force; she had found it the greatest, grandest,
sweetest thing in the world. Tryon had said that he loved her; he had
said scarcely anything else for several weeks, surely nothing else
worth remembering. She would test his love by a hypothetical question.

"You say you love me," she said, glancing at him with a sad
thoughtfulness in her large dark eyes. "How much do you love me?"

"I love you all one can love. True love has no degrees; it is all or
nothing!"

"Would you love me," she asked, with an air of coquetry that masked her
concern, pointing toward the girl in the shrubbery, "if I were Albert's
nurse yonder?"

"If you were Albert's nurse," he replied, with a joyous laugh, "he
would have to find another within a week, for within a week we should
be married."

The answer seemed to fit the question, but in fact, Tryon's mind and
Rena's did not meet. That two intelligent persons should each attach a
different meaning to so simple a form of words as Rena's question was
the best ground for her misgiving with regard to the marriage. But
love blinded her. She was anxious to be convinced. She interpreted the
meaning of his speech by her own thought and by the ardor of his
glance, and was satisfied with the answer.

"And now, darling," pleaded Tryon, "will you not fix the day that shall
make me happy? I shall be ready to go away in three weeks. Will you
go with me?"

"Yes," she answered, in a tumult of joy. She would never need to tell
him her secret now. It would make no difference with him, so far as
she was concerned; and she had no right to reveal her brother's secret.
She was willing to