he perfume of sweet birch smoke.

[Illustration: "A STRANGE SHYNESS SEEMED TO HOLD US APART".]

I rose from my chair. Dorothy rose, too, trembling. A strange shyness
seemed to hold us apart. She stood there, the forced smile stamped on
her lips, watching me with the fascination of fear; and I steadied
myself on the arm of my chair, looking deep into her eyes, seeking to
recognize in her the child I had known.

The child had gone, and in her place stood this lovely, silent stranger,
with all the mystery of woman-hood in her eyes--that sweet light,
exquisitely prophetic, divinely sad.

"Dorothy," I said, under my breath. "All that is brave and adorable in
you, I love and worship. You have risen so far above me--and I am so
weak and--and broken, and unworthy--"

"I love you," she faltered, her lips scarcely moving. Then the color
surged over brow and throat; she laid her hands on her hot cheeks; I
took her in my arms, holding her imprisoned. At my touch the color faded
from her face, leaving it white as a flower.

"I fear you--maid spiritual, maid militant--Maid-at-Arms!" I stammered.

"And I fear you," she murmured, looking at me. "What lover does the
whole world hold like you? What hero can compare with you? And who am I
that I should take you away from the whole world? Sweetheart, I
am afraid."

"Then fear no more," I whispered, and bent my head. She raised her pale
face; her arms crept up around my neck and tightened, clinging closer as
her closing lips met mine.

There came a tapping at the door, a shuffle of felt-shod feet--

"Mars' Gawge, suh, yo' hoss done saddle', suh."

THE END

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