agement, Garda, it isn't
necessary to say anything about Lucian, is it?--this feeling that you
think you have for him; I wish you would promise me not to speak of
Lucian at all."

"Think I have!" said Garda. "_Know_ is the word. But I'm afraid I can't
promise you that, because, don't you see" (here she came to her friend,
who was standing with one hand on the door)--"don't you see that I shall
_have_ to speak of Lucian?--I shall have to say how much I like him.
Because, after what I let Evert think that night on the barrens, nothing
less will convince _him_ that I don't care for _him_ any more, that I've
got over it. For he believed me then--as well he might! and he has never
stopped believing. And he never will stop--he wouldn't know how--until I
tell him in so many words that I adore somebody else; perhaps he will
stop then; he knew what it was when I adored _him_."

Margaret looked at her without speaking.

"Dear me! Margaret, don't _hate_ me," said Garda, abandoning her
presentation of the case and clinging in distress to her friend.

"Promise me at least not to tell Evert anything about that last
afternoon before Lucian left--your plan for meeting him at the pool,
your going on towards the house and coming upon me, our seeing Dr.
Kirby, and your fear--in short, all that happened. Promise me
faithfully."

"I suppose I can promise that, if you care about it. But you mustn't
hate me, Margaret."

"What makes you think I hate you?" asked Margaret, forcing a smile.

"A look 'way back in your eyes," Garda answered, the tears shining in
her own.

"Never mind about looks 'way back; take those that are nearer the
front," responded Margaret. She drew herself away, opened the door, and
went down the hall towards her own room.

Garda followed her. But at her door Margaret stopped; "Good-night," she
said.

"Are you going to shut yourself up? Mayn't I go through your room to
mine? Mayn't I have the door open between?" said Garda. "I'm so afraid
of the storm!" The rain was still beating against the windows, the wind
was now a gale. "I shall keep thinking of the sea."

"The sound of the storm is as loud in my room as in yours."

"Well, I won't tease," said Garda; "I see you want to be alone." She
kissed her friend, and went mournfully down the hall towards her own
door. Then her mood seemed to change, for she called back, "I shall keep
my lamp burning all night, then."

This was a small hanging lamp of copper, of w