Royal. He asked me if I
would take Mrs. Fleming out; she had complained of headache, and he
thought a walk down by the river might be good for her. I promised to do
so, and then I knew the time for speaking to her had come.

I cannot tell how it was that our walk was delayed until the gloaming,
and then we went at once to the river, for no other reason that I can
see, except that Lance had wished us to go there.

But to my dying day I can never forget the scene. The sky was roseate
with crimson clouds, and golden with gold; the river ran swiftly,
brimming full to the banks; the glow of the sunlight lay on the hills
around, on the green fields, on the distant woods, on the bank where we
stood, on the tall, noble trees, on the wild flowers and blossoms.
Better almost than anything else I remember a great patch of scarlet
poppies that grew in the long green grass; even now, although this took
place a long time ago, the sight of crimson poppy makes my heart ache.
The withered trunk of a fallen tree lay across the river's bank; one end
of it was washed by the stream. Mrs. Fleming sat down upon it and the
scarlet poppies were at her feet.

"We can see nothing so pretty as the sunset over the river, Mr. Ford,"
she said; "let us watch it."

We sat for some few minutes in silence; the rosy glow from the sky and
the river seemed to fall on her face as she turned it to the water.

The time had come; I knew that, yet only Heaven knows how I shrank from
the task! I would rather have died, yet my sense of justice urged me on.
Was it fair that Lance Fleming should lavish the whole love of his life
on a murderess?

"What are you thinking so intently about, Mr. Ford?" she asked me.

"Shall I tell you?" I asked.

"Yes, by all means," she replied. "I am sure the subject is very grave,
you look so unhappy."

Now the time was come! That beautiful face would never look into mine
again. I steeled my heart by thinking of the tiny baby face I had seen
on the wooden bench of the pier--so like hers--the little drowned face!

"I will tell you of what I am thinking, Mrs. Fleming," I said; "but I
must tell it to you as a story."

"Do," she said, in a gentle voice, and she gathered the scarlet poppies
as she spoke.

"There were two friends once upon a time," I began, "who loved each
other with a love deeper and truer than the love of brothers."

She nodded her head with a charming smile; I saw an expression of great
relief pass over