ehaving strangely, for she seemed never to be out of
range of their unwinking painted eyes.

From other rooms she had brought in ornaments, books, little odds and
ends--and the unaccustomed concentration of household gods caused her
much doubt and uncertainty, so fearful was she that his wise dark eyes
might smilingly detect her effort.

There had been much to do in the short time pending his arrival--the
gravel path to be raked, the lawn to be rolled and cut, the carefully
weeded flower beds to be searched for the tiniest spear of green which
did not belong there, the veranda to be swept again, and all the potted
plants to be re-arranged and the dead leaves and blossoms to be removed.

Then there were great sheafs of iris to gather; and that, and the cutting
of peonies and June roses, were matters to go about with thought and
discretion, so that no unsightly spaces in bloom and foliage should be
apparent to those dark, wise eyes of his that had looked on so many
things in life--so many, many things of which she knew nothing.

Also she was to offer him tea; and the baking of old-fashioned biscuits
and sweets was a matter for prayerful consideration. And Hetty, the hired
girl, had spent all the morning on her grand-mother's silver, and William
Pillsbury, executor of chores, had washed the doorstep and polished the
windows and swept the maple-pods and poplar silk from the roof-gutters,
and was now down on his knees with shears, trimming the grass under the
picket-fence.

And _he_ was not coming after all. He was never coming.

For a little while she failed to realise it; there was a numb sensation
in her breast, a dull confusion in her mind. She sat alone in the
parlour, in her pretty new gown, looking straight ahead of her, seeing
nothing--not even his letter in her hand.

And she sat there for a long while; the numbness became painful; the
tension a dull endurance. Fatigue came, too; she rested her head wearily
on the back of the chair and closed her eyes. But the tall clocks ticking
slowly became unendurable--and the odour of the roses hurt her.

Suddenly, through and through her shot a pang of fright; she had just
remembered that she had given him back his pistol.

On her feet now, startled as though listening, she stood, lips slightly
parted, and the soft colour gone from them. Then she went to the window
and looked down the road; and came back to stand by the centre-table, her
clasped hands resting on the B