As she looked, a horseman came dashing down the hill; he passed through the gate and down the avenue. "That must be either Abner or Oleah," thought Irene. "Six months ago, they would have gone and returned together." When he stepped on the piazza, the moon fell on his face and revealed the features of Abner Tompkins. He came rapidly up the steps and into the house. Staying only a few moments in the room below, where his parents were, then came directly to Irene's door and knocked. She bade him come in. "Irene," he said in tremulous tones, "I have strange news for you. I must leave to-night for months perhaps, perhaps forever, my home, my parents--and you." Irene sprang to his side eager and excited. "Why, Abner, what do you mean?" "Is it such a surprise to you? I will try to speak calmly, but I have only a few moments to stay. I have a load on my heart that I must unburden to you." "What is it?" she said, drawing a low stool to his feet and seating herself she took both his hands in her own. "Tell me what troubles you, let me share it with you. Who should share your troubles if not your sister?" "Irene, what I have to say will shock you." "No, no, it will not. If you have done anything wrong, I shall be sure it was not your fault--" "No, you misunderstand me; it is nothing I have done," he interrupted. "Then what is this secret, brother?" "_I am not your brother._" Irene had promised that his secret should not shock her, yet had a bombshell burst at her feet, she could not have been more astonished. She sprang from the low stool, and stood with clasped hands, the color fading from her face, her slight form swaying as though she had received a blow. Abner, alarmed, sprang from his chair, and caught her in his arms. "Irene, Irene, don't take it so," he said, bending tenderly over the white face. "_Not my brother?_ Why you must be mad!" she gasped. "Irene, I am not your brother, but I love you a thousand times more fondly than a brother could love. It was this I wanted to tell you before I leave you. What, Irene, weeping--weeping because I am not your brother! My darling, let me be nearer and dearer than a brother!" "Abner, I can not realize it, I can not think!" she said, pressing her hands to her throbbing temples. "Think of it when I am gone, Irene, for I must go. To-morrow's sun must find me miles from here. But through all the coming strife I shall cherish your image. I shall hope for your love if I return. Now, good-by, my love, my Irene!" He caught her in his arms, but it was only a sisterly embrace that Irene returned. She could not yet believe that Abner was not her brother. He went down stairs, she heard his mother's sobs, his father's broken voice; the door opened and closed, and from her window she saw him pass down the avenue, out of sight. Soon she heard a horse galloping down the road, and knew that Abner was riding swiftly away in the gathering darkness.