ounding in his ears--Drina's laughter, Lansing's protest;
Billy shouting to his eager pack; his sister's calm tones, admonishing
the young--and through it all, _her_ voice, clear, hauntingly sweet,
pronouncing his name.

And he set his lean jaws tight and took a new grip on his pipe-stem, and
stared, with pain-dulled eyes, at the white wall opposite.

But on the blank expanse the faintest tinge of colour appeared, growing
clearer, taking shape as he stared; and slowly, slowly, under the soft
splendour of her hair, two clear eyes of darkest blue opened under the
languid lids and looked at him, and looked and looked until he closed
his own, unable to endure the agony.

But even through his sealed lids he saw her; and her clear gaze pierced
him, blinded as he was, leaning there, both hands pressed across his
eyes.

Sooner or later--sooner or later he must write to her and tell what must
be told. How to do it, when to do it, he did not know. What to say he
did not know; but that there was something due her from him--something
to say, something to confess--to ask her pardon for--he understood.

Happily for her--happily for him, alas!--love, in its full miracle, had
remained beyond her comprehension. That she cared for him with all her
young heart he knew; that she had not come to love him he knew, too. So
that crowning misery of happiness was spared him.

Yet he knew, too, that there had been a chance for him; that her
awakening had not been wholly impossible. Loyal in his soul to the dread
duty before him, he must abandon hope; loyal in his heart to her, he
must abandon her, lest, by chance, in the calm, still happiness of their
intimacy the divine moment, unheralded, flash out through the veil,
dazzling, blinding them with the splendour of its truth and beauty.

And now, leaning there, his face buried in his hands, hours that he
spent with her came crowding back upon him, and in his ears her voice
echoed and echoed, and his hands trembled with the scented memory of her
touch, and his soul quivered and cried out for her.

Storm after storm swept him; and in the tempest he abandoned reason,
blinded, stunned, crouching there with head lowered and his clenched
hands across his face.

But storms, given right of way, pass on and over, and tempests sweep
hearts cleaner; and after a long while he lifted his bowed head and sat
up, squaring his shoulders.

Presently he picked up his pipe again, held it a moment, then laid