Somewhere in the distance a bird was softly calling to its mate.

Behind Charlotte and Leaver, the kindly old clergyman who had been Madam
Chase's life-long friend was gently murmuring:

"'Dust is dust, to dust returneth,
Was not written of the soul.'"

Upon the evening of that day, spent as such evenings are, in subdued
conversation at a hearthside, Leaver came across the room and spoke to
Charlotte.

"I am wondering," he said, "if a short walk in the night air won't make
you fitter for sleep than you look now. It is mild and fine outside. Will
you come?"

"It will do you good, Miss Ruston," urged her hostess, who had taken a
strong liking to Dr. Leaver. The Macauleys seconded the suggestion also,
and Charlotte, somewhat reluctantly as to outward manner, but, in spite
of sorrow and physical fatigue, with a strong leap of the heart, made
ready.

As her companion closed the door behind them Charlotte understood that
she was alone with him at last, as she had not been alone with him in all
these days, even when no person was present. She had small time in which
to recognize what was coming, for, almost instantly, it was at hand.
There was a small park opposite the house, and to the deserted walk which
circled it she found herself led.

"Dear," Leaver's voice began, in its tenderest inflection, "I have a
curious feeling that no words can make it any clearer between us than it
already is. Last winter we knew how it was with us--didn't we? Won't you
tell me that you knew? It is my dearest belief that you did."

"Yes, I knew," Charlotte answered, very low.

"To me it was the most beautiful thing I had ever dreamed of, that two
people could so understand and belong to each other before a word was
said. When the time came to speak, and--the thing had happened that made
it impossible, I can never tell you what it meant to me. When I found
you there in the North it seemed as if the last ounce had been added to
the burden I was bearing. I couldn't ask for your friendship; I couldn't
have taken it if you had given it to me. I had to have all or nothing.
Can you understand that?"

She nodded. She put up one hand and lifted the thin black veil she was
wearing, and turned her face upward to the stars. They were very bright,
that February night, down in South Carolina.

"But now," he went on, after a moment, "it is all plain before us.
Charlotte, am I a strangely presumptuous lover to take so much for
granted? I don'