the marsh, the years stretch out before me--a vast plain
of which the uncertainty only is sure. They are full of strange
pitfalls, of unsounded deeps and silences, of impassable
barriers which I, disheartened and doubting, must one day meet
face to face.

"Night lies upon it, and I cannot see the way. Storm beats upon
me and turns me from my course. The clouded day ends in sunset,
and the crystal pools, by which I thought to mark my path,
become beacons of blood-red flame.

"The will o' the wisp leads me into the mire, where the rushes
cling tightly about me and keep me back. But the night wind
blows from the east, where the dawn sleeps, and on the strings
of the marsh grass breathes a little song. 'Iris! Iris!' it
sings, then all at once my sore heart grows strangely glad, for
whatever may come to me, I shall have the memory of you.

"Like the flags that glorify the marshes and spread their elfin
sweetness afar, you shine upon the desert wastes of my life. I
can never wholly lose you--you are there for always, and graven
on my heart forever is the symbol of the fleur-de-lis."

XIV

Her Name-Flower

Somehow, the days passed. Iris ate mechanically, and went about her
household duties with her former precision. On Wednesday evening, Doctor
Brinkerhoff came, as usual, and Margaret's eyes filled at the sight of
him.

Bent, old, and haggard, he came up the path, longing for his accustomed
place in the house, and yet dreading to take it. Iris met him with a
pitiful little smile, and he bowed over her hand for a moment, his
shoulders shaking. Then he straightened himself, like a soldier under
fire.

"Miss Iris," he said, "we are bound together by a common grief. More
than that, I have a trust to fulfil. She"--here he hesitated and then
went on--"she asked me if I would not try to take the place of a father
to you, and I promised that I would."

"I have always felt so toward you," answered Iris, in a low tone.

Lynn was quite himself again, and his cheerful talk enlivened the
others, almost against their will. There was laughter and to spare, yet
beneath it was an undercurrent of sorrow, for the wound was healed only
upon the surface.

"It is hard," said the Doctor, sadly, "but life holds many hard things
for all of us. Perhaps, if we lived rightly, if our faith were stronger,
death would not rend our hearts as it does. It is the comm