mself while she fished in solitude.

"I say, you know," he protested, "that's rather hard lines."

"Don't be absurd!" said Betty. "I came out to catch fish, not to talk.
And you are going to do the same."

"Oh, confound the fish!" said the luckless one.

Nevertheless, he yielded, seeing that it was expected of him, and took
himself off, albeit reluctantly.

Betty watched him go, with a faint smile. He was a nice boy undoubtedly,
but she much preferred him at a distance.

She sat down on the bank above the trout-stream, and took a letter from
her pocket. It had reached her the previous day, and she had already
read it many times. This fact, however, did not deter her from reading
it yet again, her chin upon her hand. It was not a lengthy epistle.

"DEAR BETTY," it said, "I am back from my wanderings, and I
am coming straight to you; but I want you to get this letter
first, in time to stop me, if you feel so inclined. It is
useless for me to attempt to soften what I have to say. I
can only put it briefly, just because I know--too well--what
it will mean to you. Betty, the boy is dead, has been dead
for years. How he died and exactly when, I do not know; but
I have certified the fact of his death beyond all question.
He died at the hands of the Wandis, when his own men, the
Zambas, were defeated. So much I heard from the Wandi Mullah
himself, and more than that I cannot tell you. My dear, that
is the end of your romance, and I know that you will never
weave another. But, that notwithstanding, I am coming--now,
if you will have me--later, if you desire it--to claim you
for myself. Your happiness always has and always will come
first with me, and neither now nor hereafter shall I ever
ask of you more than you are disposed to give.--Ever yours,"

"MONTAGUE HERNE."

Very slowly Betty's eyes travelled over the paper. She read right to the
end, and then suffered her eyes to rest for a long time upon the
signature. Her fishing-rod lay forgotten on the ground beside her. She
seemed to be thinking deeply.

Once, rather suddenly, she moved to look at the watch on her wrist. It
was drawing towards noon. She had sent no message to delay him. Would he
have travelled by the night train? But she dismissed that conjecture as
unlikely. Herne was not a man to do anything headlong. He would give her