ng wind was tossing the arms of the hemlocks where she
stood with another lover last night.

It was a very silent walk. They strolled along the lonesome road, with
the primrose light growing grayer and grayer through the velvety
meadows, where the quiet cows grazed. Something of the dark shadows
deepening around them seemed to steal into the man's heart, and dull it
with nameless dread, but there was no voice in the rising wind, in the
whispering trees, in the creeping gloom, to tell him of what was so
near.

A very silent walk--the last they would ever take. The little talking
done, Mr. Gilbert did himself. He told her that all his preparations for
his bride, all his arrangements for her comfort were made. Their home in
New York's stateliest avenue was ready and waiting--their wedding tour
would be to Montreal and Niagara, unless Norine had some other choice.
But she would be glad to see once more the quaint, gray, dear old
Canadian town--would she not?

"Yes, she would ever be glad to see Montreal. No, she had no other
choice." She shivered as she said it, looking far off with blank eyes
that dare not meet his. "Niagara would do very well, all places were
alike to her. It was growing cold and dark,"--abruptly this--"suppose
they went home."

Something in her tone and manner, in her want of interest and
enthusiasm, hurt him. More silently than they had come they recrossed
the darkening fields. The moon was rising as they drew near the house,
forcing its way up through dark and jagged clouds. She paused suddenly
for a moment, with her pale face turned towards it. Mr. Gilbert paused,
too, looking at the lowering sky.

"Listen to the wind," he said. "We will have a change to-morrow."

"A change!" she said, in a hushed sort of voice. "Yes, the storm is very
near."

"And you are shivering in this raw night wind. You are white and cold as
a spirit, my darling. Come let us go in."

His baggage had arrived--a trunk and valise stood in the hall as they
entered. The sister and brothers sat in holiday attire in the keeping
room, but very grave and quiet. The shadow that had fallen on Richard
Gilbert in the twilight fields seemed to have fallen here, too.

Norine sat at the piano, her face turned away from the light, and played
the melodies he asked for. From these she drifted gradually into music
more in accordance with her mood, playing in a mournful, minor key,
until Mr. Gilbert could endure the saddening sweetness n