again, until she knew
every word by heart. The lines even floated dreamily through her brain
in her sleep. She would awaken with them on her lips. Ah, surely, the
poem was from Lester Armstrong, she fully believed. It read as follows:

"What have I done that one face holds me so,
And follows me in fancy through the day?
Why do I seek your love? I only know
That fate is resolute, and points the way
To where you stand, bathed in amber light.
Since first you looked on me I've seen no night--
What have I done?

"What can be done? As yet no touch, no kiss;
Only a gaze across your eyes' blue lake.
Better it were, sweetheart, to dream like this,
Than afterward to shudder and awake.
Love is so very bitter, and his ways
Tortured with thorns--with wild weeds overgrown.
Must I endure, unloved, these loveless days?--
What can be done?

"This I say, 'Marry where your heart goes first,
Dear heart, and then you will be blessed.
Ah, how can others choose for you
What is for your best?
If you're told to wed for gold,
Dear girl, or for rank or show,
Stand by love, and boldly say,
"No, my heart cries no!"'"

Like most young girls, pretty Margery was sentimental. She slept with
the folded paper beneath her pillow at night, and all day long it was
carefully tucked away over her beating heart.

It was quite a week after receiving this ere she saw Lester Armstrong
again; then her face turned burning red. Lester saw it, but how was he
to dream that he was the cause of her emotion?

"Sweet Margery Conway is not strong," he thought, pityingly. "How
frightened her father would be were he to see that sudden rush of blood
to the head."

He wondered whether or not he should run to her and proffer his
assistance. He had once seen a young woman who was thus affected fall
to the floor in a fit, and it had been many a long day ere the
unfortunate woman could return to her work again. He devoutly hoped this
might not be the case with poor, pretty Margery.

She saw him start and look at her searchingly. She could not have
stopped and exchanged a word with him if her life had depended upon it.
She hurried past him with desperate haste, praying that he might not
hear the beating of her heart.

He noticed that she did not stop to speak, but he quite believed that it
was because she was very busy. The next moment he had forgo