nne Conrad." Down in
the corner she had written "Mrs. Allan Conrad." Roger smiled as he noted
the space between the "Wynne" and the "Conrad" in her signature--the
surest betrayal of a bride.

"If I should marry," Roger thought, "my wife's name would be 'Mrs. Roger
Austin.'" He wrote it out on a scrap of paper to see how it would look.
It was certainly very attractive. "And if it were Barbara, for instance,
she would sign her letters 'Barbara North Austin.'" He wrote that out,
too, and, in the lamplight, appreciatively studied the effect from many
different angles. It was really a very beautiful name.

[Sidenote: Lost in Reverie]

He lost himself in reverie, and it was nearly an hour afterward when he
returned to the difficult task of choosing his ten books. Shakespeare,
of course--fortunately there was a one-volume edition that came within
the letter of the law if not the spirit of it. To this he added
Browning. As it happened, there was a complete one-volume edition of
this, too. Emerson came next--the Essays in two volumes. That made four.
He added _Vanity Fair_, _David Copperfield_, a translation of the
_AEneid_, and his beloved Keats. He hesitated a long time over the last
two, but finally took down Boswell's _Life of Johnson_ and the _Essays
of Elia_, neither of which he had read.

[Sidenote: A Little Old Book]

Behind these two books, which had stood side by side, there was a small,
thin book that had either fallen down or been hidden there. Roger took
it out and carefully wiped off the dust. It was a blank book in which
his father had written on all but the last few pages. He took it over to
the table, drew the lamp closer, and sat down.

The gay cover had softened with the years, the pages were yellow, and
some of them were blurred by blistering spots. The ink had faded, but
the writing was still legible. At the top of the first page was the
date, "_Evening, June the seventh_."

"I have lived long," was written on the next line below, "but a thousand
years of living have been centred remorselessly into to-day. I cannot go
over, though in this house and in the one across the road it will seem
very strange. I knew the clouds of darkness must eternally hide us each
from the other, that we must see each other no more save at a great
distance, but the thunder and the riving lightning have put heaven
between us as well as earth.

"I cannot eat, for food is dust and ashes in my mouth. I cannot drink
enough wa