eek for Sunday."

A flush crossed Eugenia's face, evoking an expression of irritation.

"You must miss him," she observed sympathetically.

"I do miss him, but he comes often. He is a good son. He sent a message
to you, by the way, but it was not important."

"No, it was not important," repeated Eugenia with a feeling that her
carelessness appeared to be assumed.

She lightly kissed Mrs. Webb and ran down the steps and into the
carriage, which was waiting in the road. Her visit had left her with a
curious sense of oppression, and she breathed a long draught of the
invigorating air.

As she drove down the street she saw Nicholas coming out of his office
and offered him a "lift" to his home. He said little on the way, and his
utterances were forced, but Eugenia talked lightly and rapidly, as she
always did when with him.

She told him of Sally Burwell, of the last letter from Bernard--who was
coming home soon--of Mrs. Webb and the "Daughters of Duty."

"The truth is, I like her, but I'm afraid of her--dreadfully."

"She disapproves of your--your liking for me," he said bitterly. "But
every one does that--even the judge, though he doesn't say anything. And
they are right--I see it. You know from what I came and what I am."

"Yes, I know what you are," she returned defiantly, "and they shall all
know some day."

He turned and looked at her as she sat beside him, but he was silent,
nor did he speak until he said "good-bye" before his father's gate.

It was some days later that she saw him again. She had gone out to
gather goldenrod for the great blue vases that stood on the dining-room
mantel-piece, and was standing knee-deep in the ragged field, when he
leaped the fence that divided the farms and crossed to where she stood.

The sun was going down behind the blackened branches of the dead oak,
and the wide common, spread with goldenrod and life-everlasting, lay
like a sea of flame and snow. Eugenia, standing in its midst, a tall
woman in a dress of brown, fell in richly with the surrounding colours.
Her arms were filled with the yellow plumes and her dress was tinselled
with the dried pollen that floated in the air. As Nicholas reached her
she was seeking to free herself from the clutch of a crimson briar that
crawled along the ground, and in the effort some of the broken stalks
slipped from her hold.

Without speaking, he knelt beside her and released her skirt. "You have
torn it," he said quietly, but he w