to do next with that boy of mine?"

"Will you tell him I want to see him before he goes?"

"Yes, but I won't wake him."

"I don't want you to. Just tell him in the morning."

"Very well."

"You will be sure?"

"Sure!"

Hart was not gone. Edith fell asleep. She arose at noon the next day,
took a cold bath, ate her breakfast, dressed carefully, and leaving word
that she had gone to the forest, she walked slowly across the leaves. It
was cool and quiet there, so she sat where she could see him coming, and
waited. She was thinking deep and fast.

Henderson came swiftly down the path. A long sleep, food, and Edith's
message had done him good. He had dressed in new light flannels that
were becoming. Edith arose and went to meet him.

"Let us walk in the forest," she said.

They passed the old Catholic graveyard, and entered the deepest wood of
the Island, where all shadows were green, all voices of humanity ceased,
and there was no sound save the whispering of the trees, a few bird
notes and squirrel rustle. There Edith seated herself on a mossy old
log, and Henderson studied her. He could detect a change. She was still
pale and her eyes tired, but the dull, strained look was gone. He wanted
to hope, but he did not dare. Any other man would have forced her to
speak. The mighty tenderness in Henderson's heart shielded her in every
way.

"What have you thought of that you wanted yet, Edith?" he asked lightly
as he stretched himself at her feet.

"You!"

Henderson lay tense and very still.

"Well, I am here!"

"Thank Heaven for that!"

Henderson sat up suddenly, leaning toward her with questioning eyes. Not
knowing what he dared say, afraid of the hope which found birth in his
heart, he tried to shield her and at the same time to feel his way.

"I am more thankful than I can express that you feel so," he said. "I
would be of use, of comfort, to you if I knew how, Edith."

"You are my only comfort," she said. "I tried to send you away. I
thought I didn't want you. I thought I couldn't bear the sight of you,
because of what you have seen me suffer. But I went to the root of this
thing last night, Hart, and with self in mind, as usual, I found that I
could not live without you."

Henderson began breathing lightly. He was afraid to speak or move.

"I faced the fact that all this is my own fault," continued Edith, "and
came through my own selfishness. Then I went farther back and realized
that I am as I was