of that room! Aren't you ashamed of yourself,--rascal?"

The inner self he thus addressed was most probably abashed by this
adjuration, for his countenance cleared a little, as though he had
received an apology from his own conscience. He puffed lazily at his
cigar, and felt somewhat soothed. Light steps below him attracted his
attention, and, looking down from the little knoll on which he lay, he
saw Thelma and Philip pass. They were walking slowly along a little
winding path that led to the orchard, which was situated at some little
distance from the house. The girl's head was bent, and Philip was
talking to her with evident eagerness. Lorimer looked after them
earnestly, and his honest eyes were full of trouble.

"God bless them both!" he murmured half aloud. "There's no harm in
saying that, any how! Dear old Phil! I wonder whether--"

What he would have said was uncertain, for at that moment he was
considerably startled by the sight of a meagre, pale face peering
through the parted pine boughs,--a face in which two wild eyes shone
with a blue-green glitter, like that of newly sharpened steel.

"Hello, Sigurd!" said Lorimer good-naturedly, as he recognized his
visitor. "What are you up to? Going to climb a tree?"

Sigurd pushed aside the branches cautiously and approached. He sat down
by Lorimer, and, taking his hand, kissed it deferentially.

"I followed you. I saw you go away to grieve alone. I came to grieve
also!" he said with a patient gentleness.

Lorimer laughed languidly. "By Jove, Sigurd, you're too clever for your
age! Think I came away to grieve, eh? Not so, my boy--came away to
smoke! There's a come-down for you! I never grieve--don't know how to do
it. What _is_ grief?"

"To love!" answered Sigurd promptly. "To see a beautiful elf with golden
wings come fluttering, fluttering gently down from the sky,--you open
your arms to catch her--so! . . . and just as you think you have her, she
leans only a little bit on one side, and falls, not into your
heart--no!--into the heart of some one else! That is grief, because,
when she has gone, no more elves come down from the sky,--for you, at
any rate,--good things may come for others,--but for _you_ the heavens
are empty!"

Lorimer was silent, looking at the speaker curiously.

"How do you get all this nonsense into your head, eh?" he inquired
kindly.

"I do not know," replied Sigurd with a sigh. "It comes! But, tell
me,"--and he smiled wistfully--"it