a
pretty heavy bump," he thought.

He briskly rose to his feet. "Must be on my way," he said and stood
looking down at the shadow of her. "It's three miles or more out to
the camp. We get up at six."

For a moment she did not move, and then heavily she stood up. She made
no protest and he could not see her face. If only he might get away,
now that he had started, she might not be tempted to make any
allusions to her affair. He shunned it instinctively as a dark closet
containing a few unburied bones of his own skeleton.

Accordingly he walked slowly out upon the lawn and headed for the
front gate. He could feel the dew lapping about his ankles through his
socks and his shadow was clear cut and black on the grass, Mary Louise
came and walked the short distance by his side, neither saying a word.
They came to the gate and stood there in silence. Not a sound could be
heard, the street stretching along before them a broad white ribbon,
with splotches of mottled shade along the edges, the dark line of
houses across the street like mysterious creatures crouching in the
shadow.

As they stood there, each occupied with his own thoughts, there came a
distant sound, low and yet distinct, like the sound of one metal
striking upon another. It was clear and somewhat musical, lingering in
the air with a dying cadence. As the waves of sound died slowly away
there came silence and then the soft rustle of the leaves overhead.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"Don't know. Sounded like the closin' of a door."

Both stood listening intently, but the sound was not repeated.

"Well, good-bye," he said, holding out his hand. "See you again
sometime."

She took the hand and held it for a moment. "Joe," she began, "let's
be friends." She was forcing herself to talk. "I've made some mistakes
but--I want everybody to like me here--especially you. You understand
things, and you will overlook some of the things that have happened?"
Spectres of uncharitableness were disturbing her and she sought to be
shriven.

He thought she was alluding to Claybrook and moved uneasily so that
she dropped his hand.

"Surely. Surely I will. Good-night," he said again. Then he turned and
walked briskly away.

He had got but ten yards or so when out of the stillness came the
sound again. He paused there on the sidewalk and listened. A faint,
musical, metallic clang came surging toward him in clear beating
waves. It sounded as if it were miles away,