e we will think of some one else. Edith
Carr would not want your lips to-morrow if she knew they had touched
mine to-day. I was wise to say: 'Go quickly!'"

Philip still clung to her. "Will you write me?" he begged.

"No," said Elnora. "There is nothing to say, save good-bye. We can do
that now."

He held on. "Promise that you will write me only one letter," he urged.
"I want just one message from you to lock in my desk, and keep always.
Promise you will write once, Elnora."

She looked into his eyes, and smiled serenely. "If the talking trees
tell me this winter, the secret of how a man may grow perfect, I will
write you what it is, Philip. In all the time I have known you, I never
have liked you so little. Good-bye."

She drew away her hand and swiftly turned back to the road. Philip
Ammon, wordless, started toward Onabasha on a run.

Elnora crossed the road, climbed the fence and sought the shelter of
their own woods. She chose a diagonal course and followed it until
she came to the path leading past the violet patch. She went down this
hurriedly. Her hands were clenched at her side, her eyes dry and bright,
her cheeks red-flushed, and her breath coming fast. When she reached the
patch she turned into it and stood looking around her.

The mosses were dry, the flowers gone, weeds a foot high covered it. She
turned away and went on down the path until she was almost in sight of
the cabin.

Mrs. Comstock smiled and waited in the arbour until it occurred to her
that Elnora was a long time coming, so she went to the gate. The road
stretched away toward the Limberlost empty and lonely. Then she knew
that Elnora had gone into their own woods and would come in the back
way. She could not understand why the girl did not hurry to her with
what she would have to tell. She went out and wandered around the
garden. Then she stepped into the path and started along the way leading
to the woods, past the pool now framed in a thick setting of yellow
lilies. Then she saw, and stopped, gasping for breath. Her hands flew up
and her lined face grew ghastly. She stared at the sky and then at the
prostrate girl figure. Over and over she tried to speak, but only a dry
breath came. She turned and fled back to the garden.

In the familiar enclosure she gazed around her like a caged animal
seeking escape. The sun beat down on her bare head mercilessly, and
mechanically she moved to the shade of a half-grown hickory tree that
voluntar