s," said Vibbard, as they
clasped hands.

"Now, tell me one thing," resumed Silverthorn; "did it never occur to
you, in all these six years, that I, who have been living in the
daily company of the girl you love, might cross your prospect?"

For a second or two Vibbard's eyelids, which fell powerless while he
listened, remained shut, and a shock of pain seemed to strike downward
from the brain, across his face and through his whole stalwart frame.

"It's your turn to hurt me," he said, slowly, as he looked at his
friend again. "Have you any idea how that bare suggestion cut into
me?"

"I think I have," said Silverthorn, mechanically. He remained very
pale. "But I see, from the way it struck you, that you had never
thought of it before. That relieves me. Give me your hand once more,
Bill." Then he explained, hurriedly, that he must go to the mill for a
few moments. "If I'm not back to tea, don't wait. The girl will come
up and give it to you. And mind you don't go over to the Winwoods'"
(this with a laugh); "I wish to give them a little warning of your
visit."

In a moment he was gone. Vibbard amused himself as well as he could
with the books and drawings in the room; then he sat down, looked all
about the place, and sighed:

"Poor fellow! he can be more comfortable now."

Before long the tea hour came. Thorny had not returned, and he took
the meal alone, watching the sunset out of the window. But by and by
he grew restless, and finally, taking his hat and his cane, which had
an odd-shaped handle made of two carved snakes at once embracing and
wounding one another, he went out and strolled across the bridge
toward the Winwoods'. By the time he reached there dusk had closed in,
though the horizon afar off was overhung by a faint, stirring light
from the rising moon. He remembered Silverthorn's injunction, however,
and would not go into the cottage.

He passed the lilac-hedge, with its half-pathetic exhalations of
delicious odor recalling the past, and was prompted to step through a
break in the stone wall and ascend the orchard slope.

He stood there a few minutes enjoying the hush of nightfall and
exulting in the full tide of happiness and sweet anticipation that
streamed silently through his veins. All about him stole up the soft
and secret perfumes of the summer's dusk,--perfumes that feel their
way through the air like the monitions of early love, going out from
one soul to another.

Suddenly, a side-doo