d ennobled his boyish ignorance and
commonness.

"No, I wasn't scared," said Rose, and something in her voice gave
sudden boldness to her young lover.

He released her arm, and put both his arms around her. "I'm sorry you
feel so bad," he whispered, panting.

"It isn't anything," returned Rose, but she half sobbed again; the
boy's round cheek pressed against her wet, burning one. He was
several years younger than she. She had half scorned him, but she had
one of those natures that crave love for its own sweetness as palates
crave sugar.

She wept a little on his shoulder; and the boy, half beside himself
with joy and terror, stood holding her fast in his arms.

"Don't feel bad," he kept whispering. Finally Rose raised herself. "I
must go in," she whispered; "good-night."

The boy's pleading face, his innocent, passionate lips approached
hers, and they kissed each other.

"Don't you--like me a little?" gasped the boy.

"Maybe I will," Rose whispered back. His face came closer, and she
kissed him again. Then, with a murmured "good-night," she fled into
the house, and the boy went down the hill with sweeter dreams in his
heart than those which she had lost.

Chapter X

On the Sunday following the one of Barnabas Thayer's call Sylvia
Crane appeared at meeting in a black lace veil like a Spanish
senorita. The heavily wrought black lace fell over her face, and
people could get only shifting glimpses of her delicate features
behind it.

Richard Alger glanced furtively at the pale face shrinking austerely
behind the net-work of black silk leaves and flowers, and wondered at
some change which he felt but could not fathom. He scarcely knew that
she had never worn the veil before. And Richard Alger, had he known,
could never have fathomed the purely feminine motive compounded of
pride and shame which led his old sweetheart to unearth from the
depths of a bandbox her mother's worked-lace veil, and tie its narrow
black drawing-string with trembling fingers over her own bonnet.

"I'd like to know what in creation you've got that veil on for?"
whispered her sister, Hannah Berry, as they went down the aisle after
meeting.

"I thought I would," responded Sylvia's muffled voice behind the
veil.

"You've got the flowers right over your eyes. I shouldn't think you
could see to walk. You ain't never worn a veil in your life. I can't
see what has got into you," persisted Hannah.

Sylvia edged away from her as soon