per, a child's voice no longer, and he knew that she was
singing of his mad moment in the woods, which had brought the end of all
things that had mattered in her life. It was no girl who sang now, but a
woman who had learned the meaning of the song, the plaint of birds once
joyous, of woodland flowers once gay--at the memory of a spring that was
no more. He had told her that she would sing that song well some day
when she learned what it meant. She would never sing it again as she had
sung it to-night. All the dross that Peter had worn in the world was
stripped from him in that moment, all that was petty and ignoble in his
heart driven forth and he stood with bowed head, in shame for what he
had been, and in gentleness for this dear creature whose idols he had
cast down.

At the end of the second verse, her fingers slipped from the keys and
fell to her sides while she bowed her head and sat for a moment
immovable. And then her shoulders moved slightly and a tiny smothered
sound came from her throat. Suddenly her head bent and she fell forward
on her arms upon the muted keys.

Noiselessly he passed over the low windowsill and before she even knew
that he was there, fell to his knees beside her.

"Beth," he whispered. "Don't--child--don't!"

She straightened, startled and incredulous at the sight of him, and
tried to move away, but he caught one of her hands and with bent head
gently laid his lips upon it.

"Don't, Beth--please. I can't bear to see you cry----"

"I--I'm _not_ crying," she stammered helplessly, while she winked back
her tears, "I--I've just--just got the--the--stomachache."

She tried to laugh--failing dismally in a sob.

"Oh, Beth--don't----" he whispered.

"I--I can't help it--if I--I've got a--a pain," she evaded him.

"But I can," he murmured. "It's in your heart, Beth. I'm sorry for
everything. Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Please!"

"There's nothing to forgive," she repeated dully. But she had controlled
her voice now and her fingers in his were struggling for release.

"I was a brute, Beth. I'd give everything to have those moments back. I
wouldn't hurt you for the world. See--how changed I am----"

She released her fingers and turned slightly away.

"I--I'm changed too, Mr. Nichols," she murmured.

"No. You mustn't be, Beth. And I've got to have you back. You've got to
come back to me, Beth."

"Things can't be the same now."

"Yes--just the same----"

"No.