e quickened it, lifting her head, and
reached the little plaza near the fountain, her face flushed with the
walk, the dark tendrils of her hair fallen from beneath her floating
veil.

It was very sad here now, and very lonely. She had not thought that
any place long familiar could look so strange. She paused, almost
dreading to enter the old retreat, clothed as it was in the withered
vine robes of dead springs. It was so like the rainbow fountain of her
own years, checked and desolate and still. A whirlwind of red and
yellow leaves swept about her feet. She started nervously, and,
opening the little gate, went in.

But the place was not deserted. A man sat on the bench. He rose as she
closed the gate, and when she would have withdrawn, he came toward her
and held out a hand.

"Oh," she said, feeling as if she were speaking in a dream, "is
it--where did you come from?"

"It seems very natural to see you here," he said.

His face was bronzed and he had more beard than formerly, but his eyes
were the same when he smiled.

"I did not dream you were anywhere near us," she went on, the wonder
deepening in her eyes. "I was--you seem part of my thoughts--I was
thinking of you only a moment ago."

"You were always kind," said the man. "Let me spread my overcoat on
the bench--the stone is cold. You have been walking, haven't you?"

"Yes. I don't walk much--it tires me easily." She sat down, loosening
the furs at her throat, Breathing quickly; her eyes searched his face,
half dazed, half questioning. "But where have you been?" she asked.
"Were you not in Africa?"

"Yes. I have been home only a few days--I don't wonder you are
surprised finding me here; people don't often sit in the park at this
time--but I find it cozier than the station across the way. I came out
on the hill early this noon to look up old friends, and I found I'd an
hour to wait."

"Am I not an old friend?" she asked. "Why have you not been to
see--us?"

"I hope I may count you such," said the man. "I knew your husband,
too, many years ago; but he said that you were ill; I saw him this
morning."

"I have been ill," she answered, quickly, and looked away, pushing
back her hair with the little movement he knew so well.

"I am sorry for that," he said. "I heard of your loss--I did not lose
sight entirely of my friends. Your little boy," he added, his voice
softening--"your little boy----"

"My baby died," she said.

"I know--I heard of it--I kn