"I'm a coward, Aileen, and you are just like our Father Honore; but I _will_ put all behind me. I _will_ not regret. I _will_ work out my own salvation here in my native place, among my own and among strangers. I vow here I _will_, God helping me, if only in thankfulness for the two hearts that are mine...." * * * * * The afterglow faded from the western heavens. The twilight came on apace. The two still sat there in the darkening shed, at times unburdening their over-charged hearts; at others each rested heart and body and soul in the presence of the other, and both were aware of the calming influence of the dim and silent shed. "How did you happen to come down here just to-night, and after work hours too, Champney?" she asked, curious to know the how and the why of this meeting. "I came down for my second chisel. I remembered when I got home that it needed sharpening and I could not do without it to-morrow morning. Of course the machine shop was closed, so I thought I'd try my hand at it on the grindstone up home this evening." "Then is this it?" she exclaimed, picking up the chisel from the block. "Yes, that's mine." He held out his hand for it. "Indeed, you're not going to have it--not this one! I'll buy you another, but this is mine. Wasn't I holding it in my hand and thinking of you when I saw you coming over the meadows?" "Keep it--and I'll keep something I have of yours." "Of mine? Where did you get anything of mine? Surely it isn't the peppered rosebud?" "Oh, no. I've had it nearly seven years." "Seven years!" She exclaimed in genuine surprise. "And whatever have you had of mine I'd like to know that has kept seven years? It's neither silver nor gold--for I've little of either; not that silver or gold can make a man happy," she added quickly, fearing he might be sensitive to her speech. "No; I've learned that, Aileen, thank God!" "What is it then?--tell me quick." He thrust his hand into the workman's blouse and drew forth a small package, wrapped in oiled silk and sewed to a cord that was round his neck. He opened it. Aileen bent to examine it, her eyes straining in the increasing dusk. "Why, it's never--it's not my handkerchief!--Champney!" "Yes, yours, Aileen--that night in all the horror and despair, I heard something in your voice that told me you--didn't hate me--" "Oh, Champney!" "Yes. I've kept it ever since--I asked permission to take it in with me?--I mean into my cell. They granted it. It was with me night and day--my head lay on it at night; I got my first sleep so--and it went with me to work during the day. It's been kissed clean thin till it's mere gossamer; it helped, that and the work, to save my brain--" She caught handkerchief and hand in both hers and pressed her lips to them again and again. "And now I'm going to keep it, after you're mine in the sight of man, as you are now before God; put it away and keep it for--" He stopped short. "For whom?" she whispered.