vaguely.

"At any rate, mine friend, the Herr Doctor, has asked it, even after he
has known of mine promise, and, of a surety, he is wiser than I. I will
come, at four, with mine violin."

Lynn took the long way home, his sunny nature deeply disturbed. "What is
it?" he vainly asked of himself. "Am I different from everybody else?
They all seem to know something that I do not."

* * * * *

Iris kept her long vigil by Aunt Peace, her grief too great for her
starved body to withstand. At the sound of a fall, Doctor Brinkerhoff
left his post and hurried upstairs. Margaret was there almost as soon as
he was. Iris had fainted.

Together, they carried her into her own room, where at length she
revived. "What happened?" she asked, weakly. "Did I fall?"

"Hush, dear," said Margaret. "Lie still. I'm coming to sit with you
after a while."

She went out into the hall to speak to the Doctor, but he was not there.
By instinct, she knew where to find him, and went into the front room.

He stood with his back to the door, looking down upon that marble face.
Margaret was beside him, before he knew of her presence, and when he
turned, for once off his guard, she read his secret.

"She never knew," he said, briefly, as though in explanation. "I never
dared to tell her. Sometimes I think the lines we draw are false
ones--that God knows best."

"Yes," replied Margaret, unsteadily, "the lines are false, but it is
always too late when we find it out."

"Yet a part of the barrier was of His own making. She was infinitely
above me. I should have been her slave; I was never meant to be her
equal. Still, the thirsty heart will aspire to the waters beyond its
reach."

"She knows now," said Margaret.

"Yes, she knows now, and she pardons me for my presumption. I can read
it in her face as I stand here."

Margaret choked back a sob. "Come away," she said, with her hand upon
his arm, "come away until to-morrow."

"Until to-morrow," he repeated, softly. He closed the door quietly, as
though he feared the sound might break her sleep.

Iris was resting, and Margaret tiptoed down into the parlour, where the
Doctor sat with his grey head bowed upon his hands. "She knows it now,"
he said again, "and she forgives me. I can feel it in my heart."

"If she had known it before," said Margaret, "things would have been
different," but she knew that what she said was untrue.

"No," he returned, shaking his head