er. "Good-by."

Gaze to gaze, one stood, and the other, with reluctant step, backed
away; and at the last moment, with his foot leaving the threshold, lover
and maiden said again, still gaze to gaze:

"Good-by."

"Good-by."

LXXIV.

COMPLETE COLLAPSE OF A PERFECT UNDERSTANDING

The door closed and Barbara noiselessly mounted the stairs. At its top
an elm-shaded window allowed a view of some fifty yards or more down the
street, and as she reached it now the pleasantness of the outer day
furnished impulse enough, if there had been no other, for her to glance
out. She stopped sharply, with her eyes fixed where they had fallen. For
there stood John March and Henry Fair in the first bright elation of
their encounter busily exchanging their manly acknowledgments and
explanations. Lost to herself she stayed, an arm bent high and a knuckle
at her parted teeth, comparing the two men and noting the matchless
bearing of her Southerner. In it she read again for the hundredth time
all the energy and intrepidity which in her knowledge it stood for; his
boyish openness and simplicity, his tender belief in his mother, his
high-hearted devotion to the fulfilment of his father's aspirations, and
the impetuous force and native skill with which at mortal risks and in
so short a time he had ranked himself among the masters of public
fortune. She recalled, as she was prone to do, what Charlie Champion had
once meditatively said to her on seeing him approach: "Here comes the
only man in Dixie Jeff-Jack Ravenel's afraid of."

After an instant the manner of the two young men became more serious,
and March showed a yellow paper--"a telegram," thought their on-looker.
"He's coming here, no doubt; possibly to tell me its news; more likely
just to say good-by again; but certainly with nothing--nothing--O
nothing! to ask." For a moment her hand pressed hard against her lips,
and then her maiden self-regard quietly but strenuously definitely
rebelled.

The telegram seemed to bring its readers grave disappointment. March
made indignant gestures in obvious allusion to distant absentees. Now
they began to move apart; Fair stepped farther away, March drew nearer
the house, still making gestures as if he might be saying--Barbara
resentfully guessed----

"You might walk slow; I shan't stop more than a minute!"

She left the window with silent speed, saying, in her heart, "You
needn't! You shan't!"

As March with clouded brow was lift