he drew from its hiding place the little book he had given her at
parting. She had slipped it into the breast pocket of her riding habit
as she received it, for she shrank from having her aunt's keen eyes
detect it and question her. She had been too much engrossed with the
thought of separation to remember it till now.

She touched it tenderly, shyly, as though it were a part of himself; the
limp, worn covers, the look of constant use, all made it inexpressibly
dear. She had not known before that an inanimate object, not beautiful
in itself, could bring such tender love.

Opening to the flyleaf, there in clear, bold writing was his name, "John
Chadwick Brownleigh," and for the first time she realized that there had
passed between them no word of her name. Strange that they two should
have come so close as to need no names one with the other. But her heart
leaped up with joy that she knew his name, and her eyes dwelt yearningly
upon the written characters. John! How well the name fitted him. It
seemed that she would have known it was his even if she had not seen it
written first in one of his possessions. Then she fell to meditating
whether he would have any way of discovering her name. Perhaps her
father had given it to him, or the station agent might have known to
whom their car belonged. Of course he would when he received the
orders,--or did they give orders about cars only by numbers? She wished
she dared ask some one. Perhaps she could find out in some way how those
orders were written. And yet all the time she had an instinctive feeling
that had he known her name a thousand times he would not have
communicated with her. She knew by that exalted look of renunciation
upon his face that no longing whatsoever could make him overstep the
bounds which he had laid down between her soul and his.

With a sigh she opened the little book, and it fell apart of itself to
the place where he had read the night before, the page still marked by
the little silk cord he had placed so carefully. She could see him now
with the firelight flickering on his face, and the moonlight silvering
his head, that strong tender look upon his face. How wonderful he had
been!

She read the psalm over now herself, the first time in her life she had
ever consciously given herself to reading the Bible. But there was a
charm about the words that gave them new meaning, the charm of his voice
as she heard them in memory and watched again his face chan