e only to reach out your hand and take what you want."

I shall never forget the look on Nort's face as he leaned forward in his
chair, nor the words that seemed to be wrung out of his very soul:

"That's all right as philosophy, David, but I--want--Anthy."

I suppose I had known it all along, and should not have been surprised
or pained, and yet it was a moment before I could reply.

"Take her then, Nort," I said, "if you're big enough. But you can't
steal her, as they once stole their women; and you can't buy her, as
they do still."

Nort looked at me steadily.

"How, then?"

"You've got to win her, earn her. She's as able to take care of herself
as you are."

"I guess it's hopeless enough. There isn't much chance that a girl like
Anthy will see anything in a perfectly useless chap like me."

We sat for some time silent, Nort there in the chair at the end of the
table, I here by the window, and the warm air of spring coming in laden
with the heavy sweet odour of lilac blossoms. And I had a feeling at the
moment as though my hand were upon the destinies of two lives.

I don't know yet quite why I did it, but I leaned over presently and
opened the drawer in my desk where I keep my greatest treasures, and
took out a small package of letters. It was my prize possession, the
knowledge I had of the deep things in Anthy's life, a possession that I
had never thought I could share with any one, and yet at that moment it
seemed to me I wanted most of all to have Nort know with what a high and
precious thing he was dealing--the noble heart of a good woman.

So I gave him a glimpse of the Anthy I knew, told him about the secret
post-office box behind the portrait of Lincoln in the study of her
father's home, and of the letters she wrote and posted there. Then I
opened one of the letters and handed it to him. I watched him as he read
it, his hand trembling just a little. At last he looked up at me--with
his bare soul in his eyes. He got up slowly from his chair and looked
all about him, and then he said in a low voice, as if to himself:

"She was in here once, in this room, in this chair."

I have never been quite sure what Nort's mental processes were at that
moment, but at least they were swift, and as terribly serious as only
youth knows how to be. And absurd? Probably.

"David," he said, "I'm going away."

"Going away? Why?"

"David," said he, "I don't suppose there was ever in this world such a
great charac