it in a quick tone full of eager
confidence, as if whatever he told her was bound to come to pass.

"Not when we are together."

Premonition chilled him there. Why should they ever be together again?
Why was it not possible that this was his one night, the first and the
last? So if it was to be the last, he would taste every minute of it,
and make it his to keep.

"Well," he said consideringly, "so you are a charmer. You can charm a
bird off a bush. That would be one of the first tricks."

She answered, in what he saw was real delight,--

"I can try. Want me to?"

"No, no. You can't tell what will become of the bird--in the end."

His voice sounded to her ineffably sad. Eager words rose again to her
lips, and again she held them back, even against the glamour of that
light and air.

"You broke your promise to me," she adventured presently.

"What promise?"

"You said you would come to the house."

"I said I might." He spoke with an embracing tenderness, as if to a
child. She fancied he was smiling at her through the dusk. "Besides," he
continued, "I shan't come to see you there, anyway; I have decided
that."

"Why not?"

"This is better."

"This?"

"This tree."

It seemed quite just and natural that she should meet him there. Why
should she disclaim it?

"But you won't go to the house to see your grandmother?"

"Oh, I see grannie. She wakes before day. We have a little talk every
morning while you're asleep. The last time"--he stopped.

"Well!" she urged him.

"The last time I passed your door I heard your step inside. When I went
out at the front door, I heard you on the stairs." It had apparently
enormous significance to him. "The next morning I came earlier," said
Osmond, in a low tone, "but I dropped a handful of rose leaves at your
sill."

"I saw them--scattered rose leaves."

"For you to step on."

There was a moment's silence.

"But I didn't," she said. "I didn't step on them."

"What did you do?"

"I gathered them up very carefully in my handkerchief and left them in
my bureau drawer."

"Now, why"--he spoke curiously--"why did you do that?"

"I hate to throw away flowers. They are precious to me."

There was silence again, and then he said reprovingly,--

"No, you mustn't do that."

"Do what?"

"You mustn't get up earlier to catch me scattering my rose leaves. That
wouldn't be fair."

"That was what I was thinking." She mused a moment. "No, I suppose it
wouldn't b