he growing dusk, watching the pale lamps
of the constellations deepen to green gilt against the lapis-lazuli
of the sky, and listening to the insect noises dulling into the woven
chorus of evening. Uncle Jefferson was long in returning, and he grew
impatient finally and began to prowl through the dusky corridors like a
leopard, then to the front porch and finally to the driveway, listening
at every turn for the familiar slouching step.

When at length the old negro appeared, Valiant took the note he
brought, his heart beating rapidly, and carried it hastily in to the
candle-light. He did not open it at once, but sat for a full minute
pressing it between his palms as though to extract from the delicate
paper the beloved thrill of her touch. His hand shook slightly as he
drew the folded leaves from the envelope. How would it begin? "My Knight
of the Crimson Rose?" or "Dear Gardener?" (She had called him Gardener
the day they had set out the roses) or perhaps even "Sweetheart"? It
would not be long, only a mere "Yes" or "Come to me," perhaps; yet even
the shortest missive had its beginning and its ending.

He opened and read.

For an instant he stared unbelievingly. Then the paper crackled to a
ball in his clutched hand, and he made a hoarse sound which was half
a cry, then sat perfectly still, his whole face shuddering. What he
crushed in his hand was no note of tender love-phrases; it was an abrupt
dismissal. The staggering contretemps struck the color from his face and
left every nerve raw and quivering. To be "nothing to her, as she could
be nothing to him"? He felt a ghastly inclination to laugh. Nothing to
her! The meaning of the lines was monstrous. It was inconceivable.

Presently, his brows frowning heavily, he spread out the crumpled paper
and reread it with bitter slowness, weighing each phrase. "Something
which she had learned since she last saw him, which lay between them."
She had not known it, then, last night, when they had kissed beside the
sun-dial! She had loved him then! What could there be that thrust them
irrevocably apart?

He sprang up and paced the floor in a blinding passion of resentment and
revolt. "You _shall!_ you _shall_!" he said between his set teeth. "We
belong to each other! There can be nothing, nothing to separate us!"
Again he pored over the page. "She could not see him again, could not
even explain." The words seemed to echo themselves, bleak as hail on a
prison pane. "If he went