striven for
six months to teach him the place she held in my heart.

By this I knew she was coming, and that what preparations I had to
make must be made soon. They were not many. Entering the well-known
place, I lit the lantern I had brought with me and set it down near
the door. It cast a feeble light about the entrance, but left great
shadows in the rear. This I had calculated on, and into these
shadows I now stepped.

The pavilion, as you remember it, is not what it was then. I had
used it little, fancying more my own library up at the house, but
it was not utterly without furnishings, and to young eyes might
even look attractive, with love, or fancied love, to mellow its
harsh lines and lend romance to its solitude. At this hour and
under these circumstances it was a dismal hole to me; and as I
stood there waiting, I thought how the place fitted the deed--if
deed it was to be.

I had always thought her timid, afraid of the night and all
threatening things. But as I listened to the sound of her soft
footfall at the door, I realized that even her breast could grow
strong under the influence of a real or fancied passion. It was a
shock--but I did not cry out--only set my teeth together and turned
a little so that what light there was would fall on my form rather
than on my face.

She entered; I felt rather than heard the tremulous push she gave
to the door, and the quick drawing in of her breath as she put her
foot across the threshold. These sapped my courage. This fear, this
almost hesitation, drew me from thoughts of myself to thoughts of
her, and it was in a daze of mingled purposes and regrets that I
felt her at last at my side.

"Walter!" fell softly, doubtfully from her lips.

It was the name of him the dip of whose oars as he made for his
boat I could now faintly hear in the river below us.

Turning, I looked her in the face.

"You are late," said I. God gave me words in my extremity. "Walter
has gone." Then, as the madness of terror replaced love in her
eyes, I lifted her forcibly and carried her to the window, where I
drew aside the vines. "That is his boat's lantern you see drawing
away from the dock. I bade him God-speed. He will not come again."

Without a word she looked, then fell back on my arm. It was no