length slipped away. "He will write," she had
told herself, "and explain." But no word had come. Whispers had flitted
to her--the tale of Sassoon's intoxication--stinging barbs that clung to
Beauty Valiant's name. That these should rest unanswered had filled her
with resentment and anger. Slowly, but with deadly surety, had grown the
belief that he no longer cared. In the end there had been left her only
pride--the pride that covers its wound and smiles. And she had hidden
her wound with flowers. But in the deepest well of her heart her love
for him had rested unchanged, clear and defined as a moss in amber,
wrapped in that mystery of silence.

In the little haircloth trunk back in her room lay an old scrap-book. It
held a few leaves torn from letters and many newspaper clippings. From
these she had known of his work, his marriage, the great commercial
success for which his name had stood--the name that from the day of his
going, she had so seldom taken upon her lips. Some of them had dealt
with his habits and idiosyncrasies, hints of an altered personality, an
aloofness or loneliness that had set him apart and made him, in a way, a
stranger to those who should have known him best. Thus her mind had come
to hold a double image: the grave man these shadowed forth, and the man
she had loved, whose youthful face was in the locket she wore always on
her breast. It was this face that was printed on her heart, and when
John Valiant had stood before her on the porch at Rosewood, it had
seemed to have risen, instinct, from that old grave.

He had not kept silence! He had written! It pealed through her brain
like a muffled bell. But Beauty Valiant was gone with her youth; in the
room near by lay that old companion who would never speak to her again,
the lifelong friend--who had really failed her thirty years ago!... and
in a tin box a mile away lay a letter....

* * * * *

"He won't rouse again," the doctor had said, but a little later, as he
and Valiant sat beside the couch, the major opened his eyes suddenly.

"Shirley," he whispered. "Where's Shirley?"

She was sitting on the porch just outside the open window, and when she
entered, tears were on her face. The doctor drew back silently; but when
Valiant would have done so, the major called him nearer.

"No," he panted; "I like to see you two together." His voice was very
weak and tired.

As she leaned and touched his hand, he smiled whim