He lifted her head to press his lips upon her eyes. They were hot and dry. But when he sought her mouth, her quick hand interposed. As abruptly as she had come into his arms she escaped their jealous clasp and stood back from him. “How could I!” she panted. “It was unfair of me. I never meant it.” “You can’t tell me that--now,” he answered, with a new note of joy and triumph. “It was wrong--so wrong,” she mourned. “It did not mean what--what you hoped. For I must go.” “Go?” he repeated incredulously. “And not come back?” “Oh, _want_ me to come back, Jem!” she pleaded. “Keep wanting me to come back. If anything could ever bring me, that would. But it will not. Nothing can. I know it. I am holding to a dream.” “I’ve lost mine,” said Jem. “And everything in life with it--if you go, now.” “Forgive me. And believe that I never meant to hurt you. If I have, it was my ignorance.” “Ignorance? You? I wish I could see your face now, to see how wise it is!” “You are smiling at me again,” she said. “But I am not wise. I am very foolish. And I am very young. Jem, do you know how old I am?” “Sometimes I’ve thought you must be at least a hundred.” “I am not eighteen yet, Jem. Indeed, I am not. I once told you that I was old, as a child. So you must forgive me and believe me.” “I’ll do anything but give you up.” “That, too,” she said very low. She set her hand trustfully within his arm. “Come. You must take me home.” It was a silent walk; the girl full of musings; the man of a grim, dogged determination. At the rose-bowered steps he took her hand. “To-morrow,” he said. “I’ll be here directly I finish my work. No; I’ve got one errand I must do first.” “What is that?” she asked wanly. “I’m going to see Eli Wade.” “Yes. I am glad,” said she. He stopped for a moment at the gate, hoping for another sight of her. She had turned up the hall light and now stood in the doorway, beneath the roses. Her face was inexpressibly wistful, inexpressibly lovely, inexpressibly lonely. The subtle and changeful eyes stared widely into the darkness. Suddenly she threw her arm across them with a desolate, renunciatory gesture and turned away. The shoes which Eli Wade had repaired for Jeremy Robson were leaden-soled to carry home a leaden and foreboding heart, that night. *****