n the garden in the deep shadow of trees,
where she could say what she had to say better than between four walls.
They strolled on, Nick holding Timmy, who purred loudly, as if glad to
welcome the giver of his jade collar.

"I got your letter just in time to catch the train for San Francisco, and
then to get on here," Hilliard explained. "Of course, you knew I'd come at
once."

"No--I wasn't sure. I thought--I might hear from you this morning--a
telegram or letter," Angela stammered. "But--I'm glad, very glad. It was
good of you to come, and so soon."

"Good!"

"I wanted so much to talk to you. I've been wanting it for a long time.
Ever since--we parted. But it was only the other night I made up my mind
that I had any right to send for you."

"What did I say to you that last day about coming from the end of the
world? It's only a step from Lucky Star here."

"I know what you said. There isn't one word I've forgotten. Shall we sit
under that arbour? It's my favourite seat, and no one ever disturbs me."

They sat down on a rustic bench curtained with trails of Virginia creeper,
red as the blood of the dying summer. Nick kept Timmy on his knee,
stroking the glossy back. His hand looked very strong and brown, and
Angela longed to snatch it up and lay it against her cheek. How she loved
him! How much more even than she had known when she couldn't see his face,
his eyes and the light there was in his eyes for her! It had not changed,
that wonderful light, though his face was sadder, and, she thought,
thinner.

"Are you glad to see me again--Nick?" she could not resist asking.

He smiled at her wistfully. "Just about as glad as a man would be to see
God's sunlight if he'd been in prison, or starving in a mine that had
fallen in on him. Only perhaps a little gladder than that."

She answered him with a look; and then, as involuntarily she put out her
hand to stroke Timmy, their fingers met. He caught hers, held them for an
instant, and let them go.

"Nick, that day when you saved my life and told me you loved me, did I
make you realize that I loved you, too?" she asked.

"No. I couldn't think you meant that. I thought you tried to save my
feelings by saying you cared; that you were sorry for me, and----"

"I was sorry for myself, because, you see, you'd begun to be the one
person in the whole world who mattered. Oh, wait; don't speak yet! I had
to make you understand that we couldn't be anything to each other, an