True, he had not communicated with his publishers since the day he left Newport to go South, and had met with the accident which laid him up at Caldwell farm; but for all that, he knew the money had accumulated, and was ready for him whenever he chose to call for it. And once again he told himself bitterly that fame and fortune had come to him too late. Had he possessed it in that bitter hour upon the Newport sands, when he laid his heart at the dainty feet of the proud Queenie Trevalyn, she might have accepted, and married him, and his blood ran riot for an instant through his veins at the bare thought of it. But he put her away from his thoughts most resolutely, telling himself that he must not allow his mind to dwell upon her for an instant, for she was now, of course, the bride of Raymond Challoner. He had no thought that she would be in New York; indeed, he fancied that she would be spending her honeymoon abroad. “Why should I yearn for you still, my queen?” he murmured hoarsely, stretching out his arms toward empty space with a great, tearless sob that he strangled fiercely in his throat rather than give it utterance. “God only knows; and I add: God help me!” He had gained his self-possession, and was his usual calm self when at length he retraced his steps to the farmhouse. He went directly to the low-roofed kitchen, where he was sure of finding Lucy and her mother preparing the midday meal. The girl looked up brightly and shyly as the long shadow that fell across the floor told her that he was near. Indeed, some subtle instinct would have told her of his near presence, even had there been no sunshine, no light, and the darkness of Erebus had shrouded the earth. “I am making something you like, Mr. Moore,” she said, holding up a great dish of golden-brown crullers before him. “And mother has made an apple pie, and you are also to have Johnny-cake and honey.” “You and your mother are very thoughtful, and very considerate of my likes--regarding the good things you are preparing--but I fear I will not be able to enjoy them for the reason that I am come to tell you that I am going to take the next train that leaves for New York, which will leave me scarcely more than time to get from here down to the depot in the village.” Glancing carelessly enough from the mother to the daughter, he saw the laughter die from Lucy’s face, and the light from her eyes. She laid down the dish of golden-brown crullers on the table, still looking at him piteously, it almost seemed to him. He did not understand the expression of her face. It was as one who awaits a sentence of life or death. “What is the matter, Lucy; are you ill?” cried Mrs. Caldwell in alarm, seeing how white her daughter’s face had grown, but before she could reach her side, Lucy had fallen in a dead swoon to the kitchen floor. For an instant the young man standing in the doorway was dazed with amazement, but in the next he sprang forward to raise the girl.