ons unusually favorable for
striking phenomena."

"And about our situation," Lute said, as they went slowly up the path
they had run down. "What we are to do, I don't know. Are we to go on, as
we have gone on? What is best? Have you thought of anything?"

He debated for a few steps. "I have thought of telling your uncle and
aunt."

"What you couldn't tell me?" she asked quickly.

"No," he answered slowly; "but just as much as I have told you. I have
no right to tell them more than I have told you."

This time it was she that debated. "No, don't tell them," she said
finally. "They wouldn't understand. I don't understand, for that matter,
but I have faith in you, and in the nature of things they are not
capable of this same implicit faith. You raise up before me a mystery
that prevents our marriage, and I believe you; but they could not
believe you without doubts arising as to the wrong and ill-nature of the
mystery. Besides, it would but make their anxieties greater."

"I should go away, I know I should go away," he said, half under his
breath. "And I can. I am no weakling. Because I have failed to remain
away once, is no reason that I shall fail again."

She caught her breath with a quick gasp. "It is like a bereavement to
hear you speak of going away and remaining away. I should never see you
again. It is too terrible. And do not reproach yourself for weakness.
It is I who am to blame. It is I who prevented you from remaining away
before, I know. I wanted you so. I want you so.

"There is nothing to be done, Chris, nothing to be done but to go on
with it and let it work itself out somehow. That is one thing we are
sure of: it will work out somehow."

"But it would be easier if I went away," he suggested.

"I am happier when you are here."

"The cruelty of circumstance," he muttered savagely.

"Go or stay--that will be part of the working out. But I do not want you
to go, Chris; you know that. And now no more about it. Talk cannot mend
it. Let us never mention it again--unless... unless some time, some
wonderful, happy time, you can come to me and say: 'Lute, all is well
with me. The mystery no longer binds me. I am free.' Until that time let
us bury it, along with Planchette and all the rest, and make the most of
the little that is given us.

"And now, to show you how prepared I am to make the most of that little,
I am even ready to go with you this afternoon to see the horse--though
I wish you wouldn't