ng excitedly.

He lingered as long as he dared, longing to go forward to greet her,
but he went slowly out at last, home to his boarding place and sat down
in his habitual attitude when in deep thought, his elbow on his knee,
his chin in his palm. He wanted to see her, he must see her and tell
her how much she had done for him.

How to do it was the question which absorbed him now. He got away from
the noisy merriment of the house, out into the street again. The stars
were more congenial company to him now; under their passionless
serenity he could think better. He felt that he must come to an
understanding with himself soon, but he put it off and turned his
attention to his future, and more immediately to the plans which must
be carried out, of seeing her.

When he came in he was desperately resolved. He would go to see her on
the next day in her hotel. He justified himself by saying that she was
a lecturer, a person before the public, and that she would not think it
strange; anyhow, he was going to do it.

* * * * *

In the broad daylight, however, it was not so easy as it seemed under
the magic of the moon. The conventions of the world always count for
less in the company of the moon and the stars. He heard during the
morning that she was going away in the afternoon, and he was made
desperate. He started out to go straight to the hotel, and he did, but
he walked by it, once, twice, a half dozen times, each time feeling
weaker and more desperate in his resolution.

At length he deliberately entered and astonished himself by walking up
to the clerk and asking for Miss Wilbur.

The clerk turned briskly and looked at the pigeon-holes for the keys.
"I think she is. Send up a card?"

True, he hadn't thought of that. He had no cards. He received one from
the clerk that looked as if it had done duty before, and scrawled his
name upon it, and gave it to the insolent little darky who served as
"Front."

"Tell her I'd like to see her just a few minutes."

On the stairs he tried to prepare what he should say to her. His mouth
already felt dry, and his brain was a mere swirl of gray and white
matter. Almost without knowing how, he found himself seated in the
ladies' parlor, to which the boy had conducted him. It was a barren
little place, in spite of its excessively florid gilt and crimson
paper, and its ostentatious harsh red-plush furniture.

His heart sent the blood into h