. We
should be living in Paradise, while other men were in Hell. I can't
see it, dearest. All these months I have been bound. But now, my
dear, my dear, do you love me enough not to keep me, but to let me go?"

There was a beating pause. She lifted wet eyes. "Oh, Derry, darling,
I love you enough--I love you--"

Thus, in a moment, little Jean McKenzie unlatched the gate which had
shut her into the safe and sunshiny garden of pampered girlhood and
came out upon the broad highway of life, where men and women suffer for
the sake of those who travel with them, sharing burdens and gaining
strength as they go.

Dimly, perhaps, she perceived what she had done, but it was not given
to her to know the things she would encounter or the people she would
meet. All the world was to adventure with her, throughout the years,
the poor distracted world, dealing death and destruction, yet dreaming
ever of still waters and green pastures.

CHAPTER XIX

HILDA SHAKES A TREE

When Dr. McKenzie and Jim Connolly arrived, Derry said apologetically
as he shook hands with the Doctor, "You see, you can't get rid of
me--but I have such a lot of things to talk over with you."

It was after Jean had gone to bed, however, that they had their talk,
and before that Derry and Jean had walked in the moonlight and had
listened to the chimes.

There had, perhaps, never been such a moon. It hung in a sky that
shimmered from horizon to horizon. Against this shimmering background
the college buildings were etched in black--there was a glint of gold
as the light caught the icicles and made candles of them.

In the months to come that same moon was to sail over the cantonment
where Derry slept heavily after hard days. It was to sail over the
trenches of France, where, perhaps, he slept not at all, or slept
uneasily in the midst of mud and vermin. But always when he looked up
at it, he was to see the Cross on the top of the College, and to hear
the chimes.

They talked that night of the things that were deep in their hearts.
She wanted him to go--yes, she wanted him to go, but she was afraid.

"If something should happen to you, Derry."

"Sometimes I wonder," he said, in his grave, young voice, "why we are
so--afraid. I think we have the wrong focus. We want life, even if it
brings unhappiness, even if it brings suffering, even if it brings
disgrace. Anything seems better than to--die--"

"But to have things stop, Derry." She