He did not come that night nor the next, and for three almost unending months Merna neither heard from nor of him; then incidentally, she heard that he was gone, but where her informant did not know. Gone without so much as a word to her! She shut her grief within her heart and went about her duties but with the subtle essence of hope and faith taken out of her life—she thought forever—she had little idea how elastic is hope; faith is more ethereal, hope has tough fibre. When her mother would have sympathized with her, she made light of it: “I don’t care! If he wants to stay away, he can; don’t you fret about me, mamsy!” But mamsy was not in the least deceived. A year swept by, and Merna had become less restless, more submissive to that which she deemed the inevitable; it is a mercy that time casts so tender a haze over all things. Ned had written no letter to her; at first she grieved, but latterly she had grown indignant. “Why do you not accept other company?” said her mother. “Oh, I don’t care for them; they are not nice, mamsy.” “You are a very foolish little girl to waste your affections upon one who cares so little,” said her mother. “Now, mamsy, I am not wasting a particle of anything. As for Ned Glover, I hate him!” Her mother laughed, but said no more, trusting to time to effect a cure. * * * * * It was a lovely evening in June; the wind softly fluttered the thin curtains at the open window bringing in the odor of the roses which grew just outside. Merna sat in a low rocker just within, her arms thrown above her head, her book lying unheeded upon her lap; she was so absorbed in reverie that she heard no sound, and a sudden darkening of the window startled her. Resting his arms on the window ledge, Ned stood regarding her quizzically: “Are you too sleepy to say ‘how do you do?’ How I do wish for a kodak!” precisely as though he had not been gone a day. Merna started up with a subdued exclamation, and before she realized it she was smiling up into his laughing face. How often she had thought of this meeting—_if_ he should return—and pictured to herself the cool, indifferent air with which she would greet him; instead, she was laughing and chatting as merrily as though there had been no break in their intercourse.