e something that did not concern her at all. The other was a
deeply passionate, loving woman, who had just seen her life's joy taken
from her for ever.

Alden, leaning back against the rock near which they sat, was looking at
Edith as a man looks at but one woman in all his life. To Rosemary,
trembling and cold, it someway brought a memory of her father's face, in
the faded picture. At the thought, she clenched her hands tightly and
compressed her lips. So much she had, made hers eternally by a grave. No
one could take from her the thrilling sense of kinship with those who
had given her life.

Edith looked out upon the river. Her face was wistful and as appealing
as a child's. "Found," she repeated, "though only to lose again."

"Perhaps not," he answered, hopefully. "Wait and see."

[Sidenote: Never Again]

"Life is made of waiting," she returned, sadly--"woman's life always
is." Then with a characteristically quick change of mood, she added,
laughingly: "I know a woman who says that all her life, before she was
married, she was waiting for her husband, and that since her marriage,
she has noticed no difference."

Alden smiled at the swift anti-climax, then his face grew grave again.
He packed the few dishes in the basket, rinsed the wine glasses in the
river, brought them back, and gave one to Edith.

"We'll break the bottle," he said, "and the glasses, too. They shall
never be used again."

The shattered crystal fell, tinkling as it went. The wine made a deep,
purple stain upon the stone. He opened his arms.

"No," whispered Edith. "It only makes it harder, when----"

"Beloved, have you found so much sweetness in the world that you can
afford to pass it by?" She did not answer, so he said, pleadingly:
"Don't you want to come?"

She turned toward him, her face suddenly illumined. "I do, with all my
soul I do."

"Then come. For one little hour--for one dear hour--ah, dearest, come!"

Rosemary averted her face, unable to bear it. When she turned her
miserable eyes toward them again, allured by some strange fascination
she was powerless to analyse, Edith was in his arms, her mouth crushed
to his.

[Sidenote: Yours Alone]

"Dear, dearest, sweetheart, beloved!" the man murmured. "I love you so!"

There was a pause, then he spoke again. "Do you love me?"

"Yes," she breathed. "A thousand times, yes!"

"Say it," he pleaded. "Just those three words."

"I love you," she answered, "for everything you hav