t her belt on the long ribbon which was
fastened underneath her dress around her throat. It was a clumsy,
old-fashioned locket, with an open face, and into its small frame she
herself had inserted a photograph of Lawrence Vickery, cut from a _carte
de visite_. Bro saw it: the open face of the locket was toward him, and
he could not help seeing. It occurred to him then vaguely that, as she
had worn it concealed, it should be again hidden before other eyes saw
it--before she could know that even his had rested upon it. With shaking
fingers he took out his knife, and, opening its smallest blade, he
gently severed the ribbon, took off the locket, and put it into her
pocket. It was surprising to see how skillfully his large, rough hands
did this. Then, with an afterthought, he found a worn place in the
ribbon's end, and severed it again by pulling it apart, taking the cut
portion away with him. His idea was, that she would think the ribbon had
parted of itself at the worn spot, and she did think so. It was a
pretty, slender little ribbon, of bright rose-color. When all was
finished, he went to seek assistance. He knew no more what to do for her
physically than he would have known what to do for an angel. Although
there was not the faintest sign of consciousness, he had carefully
refrained from even touching her unnecessarily in the slightest degree:
it seemed to him profanation. But there was no one in the house. He went
to the gate, and there caught sight of Mrs. Manning hurrying homeward
across the sandy waste.

"It is all a mistake," she panted, with the tears still dropping on her
crimson cheeks. "It was not Lawrence at all, but young Harding.
Lawrence has gone down the road with the superintendent; but poor young
Harding is, I fear, fatally injured."

Even then automatic memory brought to Bro's mind only the idea, "He will
never twist his feet around chair-legs any more! It was almost the only
fault he had, poor fellow!"

"Miss Marion is not quite well, I think," he said. "I heard her crying a
little up stairs as I came in."

"Of course," said the mother, "poor child! But it is all over now.--It
was not Lawrence at all, Marion," she cried loudly, hurrying up the path
to the doorway; "it was only young Harding."

Love has ears, even in semi-death, and it heard that cry. When Mrs.
Manning, breathless, reached her daughter's room, she found her on the
lounge still, but with recovered consciousness, and even palely smi