long moment. It was so still they could hear
the bubbling of the spring, like a soft voice, complaining in the
darkness. Then Lois said, under her breath, "Oh, Gifford!"

"Yes, I do," he went on, desperately. "I know you've never thought of
such a thing; somehow, I could not seem to make you see it,--you wouldn't
see it; but I do love you, and--and, Lois--if you could care, just a
little? I've loved you so long."

Lois shrank back against the silver-poplar tree, and put her hands up to
her face. In a moment tenderness made the young man forget his anxiety.
"Did I startle you?" he said, sitting down beside her; but he did not
take her hand, as he might have done in their old frank friendship. "I'm
so sorry, but I couldn't help telling you. I know you've been unconscious
of it, but how could a fellow help loving you, Lois? And I couldn't go
away to Lockhaven and not know if there was any chance for me. Can you
care, a--little?"

She did not speak until he said again, his voice trembling with a sudden
hope, "Won't you say one word, Lois?"

"Why, Giff," she said, sitting up very straight, and looking at him, her
wet eyes shining in the darkness, "you know I care--I've always cared,
but not that way--and--and--you don't, Giff, you don't really--it's just
a fancy."

"It is not a fancy," he answered quietly. "I knew I loved you that first
time I came home from college. But you were too young; it would not have
been right. And then before I went abroad, I tried to tell you once; but
I thought from the way you spoke you did not care. So I didn't say
anything more; but I love you, and I always shall."

"Oh, Gifford," Lois cried, with a voice full of distress, "you _mustn't_!
Why, don't you see? You're just like my brother. Oh, do please let us
forget all this, and let's be just as we used to be."

"We cannot," he said gently. "But I won't make you unhappy; I won't speak
if you tell me to be silent."

"Indeed, I do tell you to be silent," she said, in a relieved tone.
"I--could not, Giff. So we'll just forget it. Promise me you will forget
it?"

He shook his head, with a slow smile. "You must forget it, if it will
make you any happier; but you cannot ask me to forget. I am happier to
remember. I shall always love you, Lois."

"But you mustn't!" she cried again. "Why can't we have just the old
friendship? Indeed--indeed, it never could be anything else; and," with a
sudden break of tenderness in her voice, "I--I really