g manner.

"It is sweet and good of you; but you know it is best that I go."

"Why?"

"Because--it might be that some of your friends would know me. . . . It
is for your sake I am going."

"I wish you to stay."

"I know it. It makes me wonderfully happy."

"_Won't_ you?"

"I must not."

"What are you going to do in the city?"

There was a silence; then: "The _same_?" she faltered.

"I am afraid so."

"Why?"

"What else is there?"

"Everything. . . . And I--ask it of you."

He looked at her with troubled eyes.

"I'm afraid you don't know what you are asking----"

"I do know! I ask--your soul of God!"

For a long while he stood there as though turned to stone. Then, as
though rousing from a dream, he walked slowly to the window, looked long
into the south. At last he turned.

She sat on the edge of the sofa, her face in her hands, deathly silent,
waiting.

"Tell me," she whispered, not looking up as he bent over her.

"About that matter of a stray soul?" he said pleasantly. "It's all
right--if you care to--bother with it. . . ."

Her hands dropped, and when she looked up he saw the tears standing in
her grey eyes.

"Do you mean it?" she asked, trembling.

"God knows what I mean," he said unsteadily; "and I shall never know
unless you tell me."

And he sat down beside her, resting his elbows on his knees and his head
between his hands, wondering what he could do with life and with the
young soul already in his dark keeping. And, after a while, the anxiety
of responsibility, being totally new, wearied him; perplexed, he lifted
his head, seeking her eyes; and saw the compassion in her face and the
slow smile trembling on her lips. And suddenly he understood which of
them was better fitted for a keeper of souls.

"Will you be patient?" he said.

"Can you ask?"

He shook his head, looking vacantly at the lamp-light.

"Because I've gone all wrong somehow . . . since I was a boy. . . . You
_will_ be patient with me--won't you?"

"Yes," she said.

[Illustration]

ENVOI

_In all Romances
And poet's fancies
Where Cupid prances,
Embowered in flowers,
The tale advances
'Mid circumstances
That check love's chances
Through tragic hours._

_The reader's doleful now,
The lover's soulful now,
At least a bowlful now
Of tears are poured.
The villain makes a hit,
The reader throws a fit,
The author grins a bit