Mechanically I turned at the sound, and saw her profile standing clear
in the open window-frame. Realization came to me with a mighty rush,
and with a cry that was a great sob I sprang toward her.

Suddenly the window became clear again, and through the blackness that
formed about me I dimly heard a great wail of horror arise from the
street below.

* * * * *

There was no other entry save the hasty scrawl in pencil.

THE TOUCH HUMAN

"Good-night." A lingering of finger tips that touched, as by accident;
a bared head; the regular tap of shoes on cement, as a man walked down
the path.

"Good-night--and God bless thee," he repeated softly, tenderly, under
his breath, that none but he might hear: words of faith spoken
reverently, and by one who believes not in the God known of the herd.

"Good-night--and God bless thee," whispered the woman slowly; and the
south wind, murmuring northward, took the words and carried them
gently away as sacred things.

The woman stood thinking, dreaming, her color mounting, her eyes
dimming, as she read deep the mystery of her own heart.

They had sat side by side the entire evening, and had talked of life
and of its hidden things; or else had remained silent in the unspoken
converse that is even sweeter to those who understand each other.

She had said of a mutual friend: "He is a man I admire; he has an
ideal."

"A thing but few of earth possess."

"No; I think you are wrong. I believe all people have ideals. They
must; life would not be life without."

"You mean object rather than ideal. Does not an ideal mean something
beautiful--something beyond--something we'd give our all for? Not our
working hours alone, but our hours of pleasure and our times of
thought. An ideal is an intangible thing--having much of the
supernatural in its make-up; 'tis a fetish for which we'd sacrifice
life--or the strongest passion of life,--love."

"Is this an ideal, though? Could anything be beautiful to us after
we'd sacrificed much of life, and all of love in its attainment? Is
not everything that is opposed to love also opposed to the ideal? Is
not an ideal, when all is told, nothing but a great love--the great
personal love of each individual?"

He turned to the woman, and there was that in his face which caused
her eyes to drop, and her breath to come more quickly.

"I don't know. I'm miserable, and lonely, and tired. I've thought I