Oh, how Walter longed to fold her in his arms and tell her how dear she was to him, and that because he loved her so much he was oftenest harsh with her. But he dared not. She would not listen to such words, he knew. She thought of him as her brother, and he would not disturb the dream, so he answered her gently: "Am I cross to you, Jessie? I do not mean to be, and now that you know all, I will be so no longer. You do not hate me, do you, because of my misfortune?" "Hate you, Walter! Oh, no! I love,—I mean I like you so much better than I did when I came up here this afternoon and cried with my face in the grass. I pity you, Walter, for it seems terrible to live with that disgrace hanging over you." Walter winced at these last words, and Jessie, as if speaking more to herself than him, continued: "I hope Will won’t tell grandma who you are, for she is so proud that she might make me feel very uncomfortable by fretting every time I spoke to you. Walter," and the tone of Jessie’s voice led Walter to expect some unpleasant remark, "you know father has intended to have you live with us, but if William tells grandma, it will be better for you to board somewhere else,—grandma can be very disagreeable if she tries, and she would annoy us almost to death." Jessie was perfectly innocent in all she said, but in spite of his recent promise Walter felt his old jealousy rising up, and whispering to him that Jessie spoke for herself rather than her grandmother. With a great effort, however, he mastered the emotion and replied: "It will be better, I think, and I will write to your father at once." Jessie little dreamed what it cost Walter thus deliberately to give up seeing her every day, and living with her beneath the same roof. It had been the goal to which he had looked forward through all his college course, for when he entered on his first year Mr. Graham had written: "After you are graduated I shall take you into business, and into my own family, as if you were my son." And Jessie herself had vetoed this,—had said it must not be. For an instant Walter felt that he would not go to New York at all; but when he saw how closely Jessie nestled to his side, and heard her say, "You can come to see me every day, and when I am going to concerts, or the opera, I shall always send word to you by father," he rejected his first suspicions as unjust. She was not ashamed of him,—she only wished to screen him from her grandmother’s ill nature, and, winding his arm around her, he said: "You are a good girl, Jessie, and I’m glad you think of me as a brother." But he was not glad. He did not wish her to be his sister, but he tried to make himself believe he did, and as in the pines where they sat it was already very dark, he proposed their returning home. Jessie was unusually silent during the walk, for she was thinking of Walter’s young mother, and as they passed the grave-yard in the distance, she sighed: