a long oval face as would go with the figure he
attributed to her. She must have the healthy palor of skin which
associates itself with masses of dark, mahogany-colored hair.

V.

It was so long since he had known a Northern spring that he had
forgotten how much later the beginning of May was in New Hampshire; but
as his train ran up from Springfield he realized the difference of the
season from that which he had left in New York. The meadows were green
only in the damp hollows; most of the trees were as bare as in
midwinter; the willows in the swamplands hung out their catkins, and the
white birches showed faint signs of returning life. In the woods were
long drifts of snow, though he knew that in the brown leaves along their
edges the pale pink flowers of the trailing arbutus were hiding their
wet faces. A vernal mildness overhung the landscape. A blue haze filled
the distances and veiled the hills; from the farm door-yards the smell
of burning leaf-heaps and garden-stalks came through the window which he
lifted to let in the dull, warm air. The sun shone down from a pale sky,
in which the crows called to one another.

By the time he arrived at Upper Ashton Falls the afternoon had waned so
far towards evening that the first robins were singing their vespers
from the leafless choirs of the maples before the hotel. He indulged the
landlord in his natural supposition that he had come up to make a timely
engagement for summer board; after supper he even asked what the price
of such rooms as his would be by the week in July, while he tried to
lead the talk round to the fact which he wished to learn.

He did not know where Miss Simpson lived; and the courage with which he
had set out on his adventure totally lapsed, leaving in its place an
accusing sense of silliness. He was where he was without reason, and in
defiance of the tacit unwillingness of the person he had come to see;
she certainly had given him no invitation, she had given him no
permission to come. For the moment, in his shame, it seemed to him that
the only thing for him was to go back to New York by the first train in
the morning. But what then would the girl think of him? Such an act must
forever end the intercourse which had now become an essential part of
his life. That voice which had haunted him so long, was he never to hear
it again? Was he willing to renounce forever the hope of hearing it?

He sat at his supper so long, nervelessly turning his d