tless and strayed about the room, looking at things here and there
without seeing them. Vera watched her, saw her wander to the open
window and stand there looking gravely into the dark. She said
nothing, and presently Lucy stepped out and disappeared. Vera, with
raised eyebrows and a half smile, resumed her book.

Lucy was now high-hearted on her quest--her quest and mission. It was
to be this once, and for the last time. She followed the peony path
from the lake to the thicket, entered among the trees and pushed her
way forward. Long before she reached the scene of last night's wonder
she was a prisoner, her lips a prize. There was very little disguise
left now. For a full time they clung together and loved without words;
but then he spoke. "So you came! I hoped, I waited, I thought that you
might. Oh, my Lucy, what a fact for me!"

She answered simply and gently, "I came--I had to come--but--"

"Well, my love?"

"Ah," she said, "but this must be for the last time." This was not
taken as she had meant it to be. Love began again. Then he said,
"That's absurd."

"No, no," she protested, "it's right. It must be so. You would not
have me do anything else."

"And I must go?"

"Yes, indeed, you must go now."

"Not yet, Lucy. Soon."

"No, at once," she told him. "The last time is come, and gone. You
must not keep me."

"Let me talk to you, so, for a few minutes. There's everything to
say."

"No," she said, "tell me nothing. I dare not know it. Please let me go
now."

"A last time, then, Lucy." She yielded her lips, but unwillingly; for
now her mind was made up. The thing had to be done, and the sooner the
better.

"Ah," he said, "how can I let you go?"

"Easily," she answered, "when I ask you"; and was unanswerable. She
forced herself free, and stood undecided.

"You needn't go back yet," he said, but she thought she must.

"I came out alone," she told him, "but Vera was in the room. So were
the others. I don't know what they will think."

"Nothing at all," he said. "Well, everything shall be as you wish. You
see that you have only to name your wish."

"I have one thing to ask you--I dare not ask any more," she said. Her
voice had a wavering sound.

"Ask," he said, "and I'll tell you the truth."

"You don't think it wicked of me, to have come? Because I did come. I
thought that I must, because--because I could never explain at any
other time, in any other way. You don't think--lightly of me?"

"