e you anywhere but with your friends? Have you
forgotten me so far as that?"

"I was thinking of your time."

"Never mind. One has always time for what he wants to do most."

"Is that an original proverb?"

"I do not know that it is a quotation."

She dropped her veil over her face, and walked along the platform at his
side. There were no street cars in the small city, and she had protested
against a carriage.

"I like the air against my face."

That last walk with Morris had been so full of talk; this was taken in
absolute silence. The wind was keen and they walked rapidly. Prue was
watching at the window, loving little Prue, as Marjorie knew she would
be.

"There's a tall man with Marjorie, Aunt Prue."

Aunt Prue left the piano and followed her to the door. Mrs. Kemlo was
knitting stockings for Morris in her steamer chair.

Marjorie was glad of Prue's encircling arms. She hid her face in the
child's hair while Hollis passed her and spoke to Miss Prudence.

Miss Prudence would be strong. Marjorie did not fear anything for her. It
might be cowardly, but she must run away from his mother. She laid Will's
letter in Hollis' hand, and slipping past him hastened up the stairway.
Prue followed her, laughing and pulling at her cloak.

She could tell Prue; it would relieve her to talk to Prue.

They were both weeping, Prue in Marjorie's arms, when Miss Prudence found
them in her chamber an hour later. The only light in the room came
through the open door of the airtight.

"Does she know?" asked Marjorie, springing up to greet Miss Prudence.

"Yes; she is very quiet, I have prayed with her twice; and we have talked
about his life and his death. She says that it was unselfish to the end."

"He sent his love to her; did Hollis tell you?"

"I read the letter--I read it twice. She holds it in her hand now."

"Has the tall man gone?" asked Prue.

"Yes, he did not stay long. Marjorie, you did not bid him good-night."

"I know it; I did not think."

"Marjorie, dear;" Miss Prudence opened her arms, and Marjorie crept into
them.

"Oh, Aunt Prue, I would not be so troubled, but he wanted to give me
something--some little thing he had brought me--because he always did
remember me, and I would not even look at it. I don't know what it was. I
refused it; and I know he was so hurt. I was almost tempted to take it
when I saw his eyes; and then I wanted to be true."

"Were you true?"

"I tried to be."

"Then ther