d at him with tearful eyes and quivering lips; his gaze
was on the ground; his face wore, to her, an absent, almost apathetic
look. She was disappointed. She had expected, she did not know
exactly _what_, but certainly more sympathy, more response. She
thought that his heart must be less noble than his face, and she
regretted having given him her confidence and solicited his aid. When
they got back to the avenue, she released him from further attendance a
trifle coldly. She would make her calls alone, she said, it might be
irksome to him, probably he had other engagements. He had been very
good to sacrifice so much of his time to her; she would not detain him
longer.

Jim went back to the path and sat down again, not noticing her change
of manner, and only conscious of the relief of being free from the
necessity of talking commonplace, of being left to think this matter
out alone. He thought vaguely that she was a kind, considerate woman
and then she passed out of his mind.

The first feeling with which he grappled was wonder; a strange thing
had happened. A few short months ago these people had been unknown to
him; were, as far as his life had been concerned, non-existent. And
now! Land, home, friends, love, all things that had been his, were
theirs! His place knew him no more; these strangers filled it. It was
a strange thing, a cruel thing.

Pocahontas had been glad to see him again, but in her pleasure there
had been preoccupation; he had felt it; it was explained now. He knew
that she had never loved him, but the possibility of her loving another
man had never come home to him before. He tried to steady himself and
realize it; it ate into his heart like corroding acid. Perhaps it was
not true; there might be some mistake; then his heart told him that it
was true; that there was no mistake. She loved this man, this
stranger, of whose existence she had been ignorant that evening when
she had said farewell to _him_ under the old willows beside the river.
She had been tender and pitiful then; she had laid her soft lips
against his hand, had given him a flower from her breast. He moved his
hand, and, with the fingers of the other hand, touched the spot which
her lips had pressed; the flower, faded and scentless, lay, folded with
a girlish note or two she had written him, in the inside pocket of his
vest.

The shadows shifted as the wind swayed the branches; the sound of
women's voices came from beh