crossed the flat without much trouble, only getting a little
wet in some places where the logs were gone. As he turned into the path
up the hill, he stood face to face with Vashti. She was standing by
a little spring which came from under an old oak, the only one on the
hill-side of pines, and was in a faded black calico. He scarcely took in
at first that it was Vashti, she was so changed. He had always thought
of her as he last saw her that evening in pink, with her white throat
and her scornful eyes. She was older now than she was then; looked more
a woman and taller; and her throat if anything was whiter than ever
against her black dress; her face was whiter too, and her eyes darker
and larger. At least, they opened wide when Darby appeared in the path.
Her hands went up to her throat as if she suddenly wanted breath. All of
the young man's heart went out to her, and the next moment he was within
arm's length of her. Her one word was in his ears:

"Darby!" He was about to catch her in his arms when a gesture restrained
him, and her look turned him to stone.

"Yer uniform?" she gasped, stepping back. Darby was not quick always,
and he looked down at his clothes and then at her again, his dazed brain
wondering.

"Whar's yer uniform?" she asked.

"At home," he said, quietly, still wondering. She seemed to catch some
hope.

"Yer got a furlough?" she said, more quietly, coming a little nearer to
him, and her eyes growing softer.

"Got a furlough?" he repeated to gain time for thought. "I--I----" He
had never thought of it before; the words in her letter flashed into his
mind, and he felt his face flush. He would not tell her a lie. "No, I
ain't got no furlough," he said, and paused whilst he tried to get his
words together to explain. But she did not give him time.

"What you doin' with them clo'se on?" she asked again.

"I--I----" he began, stammering as her suspicion dawned on him.

"You're a deserter!" she said, coldly, leaning forward, her hands
clenched, her face white, her eyes contracted.

"A what!" he asked aghast, his brain not wholly taking in her words.

"You're a deserter!" she said again--"and--a coward!"

All the blood in him seemed to surge to his head and leave his heart
like ice. He seized her arm with a grip like steel.

"Vashti Mills," he said, with his face white, "don't you say that to
me--if yer were a man I'd kill yer right here where yer stan'!" He
tossed her hand from him, and turn