Could this tall, beautiful woman, with the shining, silken crown about her shapely head, with her deep, glowing eyes, her rich, varying color, her cordial, tremulous greeting, be the same Editha of three years ago? She had been a fair, plump, and laughing girl, her sunny hair falling in graceful waves over her rounded shoulders, her eyes dancing with fun and merriment, her moods never twice the same, a creature of heart and impulse. Now her form was grown; she was more fully developed, with a stately poise which she was not wont to have; her features were more deeply lined with character, and glorified with a richer, more mature beauty, and the waving, sunny hair had been gathered up and wreathed her head in a plaited golden coronet. But these eyes—those clear, truthful, heaven-blue eyes were the same; the smile was the same upon the scarlet lips, and the sweet, tender tremulous tones were the same; he had never forgotten their music, and his heart bounded with a joy that was almost pain as they again fell upon his ear. “Earle, I am so glad you have come.” Words so simple, yet full of heartfelt gladness, never greeted mortal ears before. He grasped both her outstretched hands, forgetting all her supposed neglect of him, and without the least hesitation as to his own worthiness to do so. He knew he was worthy—his hands, morally speaking, were as fair and free from stain as her own. Yet he had not expected to find her so cordial and glad to see him, and her manner filled him with deepest gratitude and admiration. “Editha—Miss Dalton,” he said, his whole face glowing, “I thank you for your words of welcome—I cannot doubt their heartiness.” “Of course not; why should you, Earle?” she asked, with some surprise, as she searched his face. “I told you that I should not forget you—that I should always be your friend; what reason could you have to think I would not greet you heartily?” she urged, a little look of grieved surprise in her eyes. “I should not if—if—pardon me, I ought not to speak thus. Have you been well?” and he tried to change the subject. “Quite well; and you?” “Do not my looks speak for me?” he asked, smiling, yet with the shadow deepening in his eyes. He might be well physically, but it would take a long while to heal the wound in his soul. “Earle,” Editha said, gravely, meeting his eyes with a steady, earnest look, “what made you speak as you did about doubting the heartiness of my welcome? I can see that you have some reason for it; please tell me—surely you did not think I would have broken my promise—my flowers must have proven that I did not forget.” Earle gave her a quick, surprised glance. “That was just why I was in doubt,” he said, flushing slightly. “I have not received a single token of remembrance from you for nearly two years.” “Earle!” Editha instantly grew crimson to the line of gold above her forehead, then white as the delicate lace at her throat at this startling intelligence.