ng into the palms of my hands and called her attention to a
reticulated pickerel poised beneath some lily-pads, motionless,
watchful, gavial-snouted and yet graceful, ready to convert itself into
a flashing death for other fishes. I pointed to gossamer-winged
dragon-flies, which used to frighten her, till I declared them to be
friendly devourers of mosquitoes, and both of us remained breathless
when a golden oriole perched on some hazel bushes near at hand, for a
moment's display of its gaudiness. She told me of the wood-thrush we had
seen on our arrival, and how she had found the nest with the dainty blue
eggs, and how one day these had been converted into great big little
mouths ever clamoring for a distracted mother who could never find food
enough.

"But they grew up all right and took lessons in flying and, by this
time, are far away, and the little nest is abandoned," she informed me.
"I hope they will all come back another year."

And thus a moment of terrible danger passed. The peril was perhaps
averted by the saving grace of that pickerel. I trembled to think over
what might have happened. She would have looked at me, astonished and
alarmed, with those big, beautiful eyes shining, and she would have
sorrowfully shaken her head, and--I could never have returned again--and
I would have been compelled to leave Mrs. Milliken's, and the whole
beautiful, useless dream would have been ended because Gordon is right,
as far as I am concerned. Yet I can remain a friend to Frances! Please
God, I may remain one all my life and never reveal myself to her! But my
friendship will never be a perfectly genuine one since, underlying it,
there will always be the quivering of a passion held in gyves and
suffering, as suffers some gold and ruby-winged butterfly pinned to a
card and denied the mercy of a drop of chloroform.

I had received another letter from Gordon, telegraphic in brevity, and
sent it to Miss Van Rossum. He was well, having a most wonderful and
heartrending experience. He had met some stunning fellows. The taking of
awful chances was a daily occurrence, with the little ambulances darting
among the wounded, sometimes under shell-fire. He asked me to drop into
his studio, from time to time. He had discharged the Jap, but still kept
the place. It was looked after by an elderly woman he had installed
there, who was supposed to sweep and dust and let some air and light
into the studio. I was to see that she kept at it