g to the passionate poems
that girl had read, and the wild dreams she had dreamed in the still, old
garden. In the hush of the summer twilight she heard again the rich voice
that seemed to that other girl of Pinewood sweeter than the music of the
verses, and felt the penetrating glance, that had thrilled the heart of
that girl until her red cheek was pale.

How well for that girl that the lips which made the music had never
whispered love! Because--because--

Hope raised herself from lightly leaning on the window-sill as the
thought flashed in her mind, and she stood erect, as if straightened by a
sudden, sharp, almost insupportable pain--"because," she went on saying
in her mind, "had they done so, that other romantic, solitary girl at
Pinewood"--dear child! Hope's heart trembled for her--"might have
confessed that she loved!"

Hope Wayne clenched her hands, and, all alone in her dim room, flushed,
and then turned pale, and a kind of cold splendor settled on her face, so
that if Arthur Merlin could have seen her he would have called her Diana.

During the moment in which she thought these things--for it was scarcely
more--the little white bits of paper floated and fell beneath her. She
watched them as they disappeared, conscious of them, but not thinking of
them. They looked like rose-leaves, they were so pure; and how silently
they sank into the darkness below!

And if she had confessed she loved, thought Hope, how would it be with
that girl now? Might she not be standing in the twilight, watching her
young hopes scattered like rose-leaves and disappearing in the dark?

She clasped her hands before her, and walked gently up and down the room.
The full moon was rising, and the tender, tranquil light streamed through
the trees into her chamber.

But, she thought, since she did not--since the young girl dreamed,
perhaps only for a moment, perhaps so very vaguely, of what might have
been--she has given nothing, she has lost nothing. There was a pleasant
day which she remembers, far back in her childhood--oh! so pleasant! oh!
so sunny, and flowery, and serene! A pleasant day, when something came
that never comes--that never can come--but once.

She stopped by the window, and looked out to see if she could yet
discover any signs of the scattered paper. She strained her eyes down
toward the ground. But it was entirely dark there. All the light was
above--all the light was peaceful and melancholy, from the moon.

Sh