The boy standing on the board in front of the wagon, the reins in his hands, looked back, "Who?" he called. "Miss Holloway!" shouted Lawson. "She was; she's gone; went this morning." For one moment Lawson sat speechless. He saw the dark vistas of the wood, the desolate road, the bare trees and whirling leaves and thin undergrowth. Then he felt he must speak, "When, did you say?" dully. "This morning!" "Did she expect to go?" "Oh, yes! Whoa! whoa!" the horses hurrying for stable and supper, now that they were set on the homeward way, were starting off. "Come on!" "I don't believe I will," called Lawson after him, striving to collect himself and not to seem the fool he felt himself to be. "I was going down the country," he called, "and I thought I would stop and see her. I'll go on," he bawled after the fast disappearing wagon, "as she's not there." It was a half hour later that, drawing rein in the deserted road--he had been too proud and too stingingly hurt to turn short on his way--the dusk of night settling over the country, an indescribable air of dreariness with it, he suddenly remembered he had not asked where she was gone. She was not at home, he was sure of that, when he began to reason it out, and he would not ask that wretched old negro again, he was sure of that, also; though Susan, when he glimpsed her, was innocently friendly. He would find out and he would wait. Meanwhile he settled down to grim work at law and at football; practice was heavy again and the Thanksgiving game was booked for Richmond. The University men would play against the North Carolina boys from Wake-Forest. He heard nothing but the games talked of everywhere. A special train was to take the team and their friends down. The Beauty was going and many other young women of the neighborhood. He learned it was one of the events, social as well as athletic, of the year. Theatre parties were being formed by those who would stay a day or two of the holidays there; plans for sightseeing and drives and visits were being made; and Lawson, in the current whether he wished it or not, heard yet no word of Frances. Still the house looked blank and empty, still he saw the professor coming and going with little company save the tall, fair young fellow Susan had named to him. Finally, coming along the corridor one day as he passed the professor's house, Mr. Holloway hurried out. The impulse was irresistible. Lawson doffed his cap, held out his hand. The professor paused on his doorstep. Lawson talked hurriedly of the weather, of college affairs; finally for very desperate fear that the professor would go and his chance be lost, he blurted "Miss Frances is away?" "Yes!" "You must miss her very much." Her father smiled a little sadly, "I am not used to doing without her," he said whimsically. "Where is she?" Lawson could hear the heavy throb of his heart when the question had been put.