ou are. You don't know how I
value the idea of your sympathy."

Crash went the newly born resuscitation of his hopes--scattered to
fragments--shivered into empty nothingness by just one word. "Friend!"
Hateful word in such conjunction! His voice seemed numbed and strained
as he rejoined--

"I am sorry you should think of regarding me as anything less than a
friend--and you must know that you could never lack my sympathy. Then
there is something troubling you?"

"Now you are angry with me. Oh, Renshaw--and I am so miserable. You
speak in such a cold, severe tone. And I thought you would have been so
different."

"God forgive me if I should have seemed to be angry with you," he
replied. "But--how can I help you? You have not told me what your
trouble is."

"Renshaw, I believe you can be as secret as the grave. It concerns
myself--and another. But nothing that you can do can remove it.
Nothing but misery can come of it, if I do not die myself, that is."

"One word, Violet. You are sure nothing I can do will help you? I do
not wish to force your confidence, remember."

"Nothing," was the despairing answer. "Only this, Renshaw. Promise
that you will stand my friend--Heaven knows I may need it and do need
it--whatever others may say or do. Promise that if ever you can help me
you will."

Their eyes met--then their hands.

"I promise both things," he answered gravely.

But, as they turned their horses' heads to ride homewards, there was a
heavy heart within Renshaw Fanning's breast; a heart full of sad and
heavy despair. His love for this girl was no mere fleeting passion, but
the terribly earnest and concentrated abandonment of a man of mature
years and strong feelings. Now there was an end of everything. He had
as good as heard from her own lips that her affections were bound up
with another, and who that other was his perceptions left him no room
for doubt. But why, then, should all the misery ensue at which she had
hinted? Could it be that her preference was but inadequately returned?
Or was there some obstacle in the way--lack of means, opposition of
parents, or similar difficulties, which are apt to seem to those most
closely concerned so insurmountable under the circumstances? In his own
mind, he had no doubt but that things would all come right sooner or
later, and said as much.

But then, you see, they were at cross purposes, as people who deal in
veiled hints and half-confidences