He looked back perplexed, but in a moment he understood. She evidently felt that she ought to tell him outright that she was going to marry Wynford. “In treating you as I did,” she finished, “in judging you--” “You were hasty,” he said, “but I can understand.” She shook her head. “You can’t understand if you think that there was only a flower in the locket.” “Perhaps I have guessed already that there was a picture,” he said--“a picture that was not for my eyes.” She looked at him gravely. “No,” she said, “you haven’t guessed. I don’t think you’ve guessed; and when I think how I misjudged you, how harsh I was, I want you to see it. It is almost your right to see it.” Her hand went to her throat, but he shook his head. “It pleases me,” he said, “to be made a confidant, but I take the will for the deed. If there is anything more you might wish that I should say, imagine that I have said it--congratulations, good wishes, and that sort of thing; you understand.” He had reached the door, but again she called him back. She paused, with her hand on the piano, and struggled for her words. “Carty,” she said, “once I told you that it was all off, that I never could marry you--that I should never marry any one. You’re glad now, aren’t you? You see it is best?” “Would it make you happier if I said so?” he replied. “I want to know the truth,” she said. “I am afraid the truth would only hurt you,” he answered. “I want the truth,” she said again. “It is soon told,” he said; “there is nothing new to tell.” “What do you mean?” she whispered. “Isn’t it clear?” he answered. “Do you want to bring up the past?” “You love me?” she asked. He could hardly hear, her voice trembled so. He made no answer, but bowed his head. When she saw, she turned, and, throwing her arms along the piano, hid her face, and in a moment he heard her crying softly. He paused uncertainly, then he went to her. “Sally,” he said. She lifted her head. She was crying still, but with a great light of happiness in her face. “There is no Captain Wynford,” she sobbed. “If you had looked in the locket--” A laugh flashed in her eyes. And then he understood. They were standing close together in the mullioned window where three hundred years before a man standing on the lawn outside had scrawled with a diamond on one of the little panes: If woman seen thro’ crystal did appere One half so loving as her face is fair And a woman standing inside had written the answering lines: Were woman seen thro’, as the crystal pane, Then some might ask, nor long time ask in ---- The rhyme word was indicated by a dash, but neither the tracings of those dead hands, nor the ancient lawns, nor the oaks that had been witness, did these two see. When many things had been said, she opened the locket. “You must look now.” “I will,” he said. As he looked, his eyes grew misty. “Both of us?” he whispered.