Glenn felt a subtle sadness at leaving her. This human study had been most interesting to him, nor would it be the least of his regrets for what must be given up. The others were finished, he had reached the last page. During the stroll, Glenn told her that the professor had agreed to make the exchange he spoke of at Christmas. “Now you are to promise me that you will keep up your art. Don’t let circumstances overwhelm you.” “I couldn’t keep from trying to go on, if I wanted to, but when you get away you’ll forget about me.” “I don’t think I shall.” He was very calm. No matter what he thought or felt, he didn’t intend to drop a word that might disquiet her mind or disturb their tranquil sense of comradeship. “I expect you to do something some day. You’ll not stay buried down here all your life. You were not born for oblivion.” “I am afraid you will be disappointed in me. But I’ll do my best.” She looked down, pulling at the moss on the log. His going so far away was her first great sorrow. “I don’t believe I would though if I didn’t have next summer to look forward to; you said you would try to come back then.” With her simplicity and daring directness she added. “Take good care of yourself, Mr. Glenn, for all the world couldn’t fill your place in my heart.” “You think that now, Esther. You seem to see something complete in our friendship. It is all you want. A day will come when you’ll understand that it is not satisfying. The mist of morning is on the hills, and hides the outlines of the landscape; you can see but a little way. After awhile it will gradually lift, and give you a clearer and broader view.” She shook her head. “I know you can’t see it now. The ripening of your nature will show you the good fruit, and of how little use it was to cry over the pretty petals when it dropped its bloom.” She looked at him, her lips parting as she slowly grasped the drift of his words. “Patience and faith are what you must have.” “The patience I would have to borrow, or steal, for I never did have any of my own.” It was going to be the hardest lesson for her to learn. She took the knife he was toying with, and asked suddenly: “Put your foot up a minute.” He was wondering what she would do. “I’m going to leave something for you to remember me by.” She began carefully to etch a sentence across the upper part of the leather. “Bear harder, cut it--that little scratching won’t last--as long as you are putting it there.” His eyes rested on her hair, that lay like a crown on her bowed head. Slowly she cut each letter. “Don’t look until I get through.” The fine, sharp blade was doing its work well; there was just one more word. She made a slip and the keen point plunged through. “Oh, did that touch you?” Suddenly withdrawing it she saw the blood leap out and run down his boot leg. Her eyes opened wide; the despair in them was enough to move him. “Oh, Mr. Glenn, what have I done to you?”