It was long after midnight now, and he certainly could not expect to see any one at that hour. Yet he walked back and forth in front of the house, and watched the windows with the eagerness of a young lover. “She is well,” he murmured at last, with a sigh of relief, “or there would be lights shining;” and he passed the house for the last time, and returned to the hotel. “How silly it all is!” he thought, with some vexation, as he brushed the wet snow from his clothes. “I go wandering around her house like a lovesick boy, instead of going to bed like a sensible man. I have waited all these years; surely I can wait until morning.” He could not see that he was any nearer to her than he had been a year ago. But he could see her in the morning; there was some consolation in that, and still more consolation in the thought that he had her love. It was selfish in him, no doubt. But it consoled him somewhat to think that she would be waiting now as well as he. As if the pains of separation could be lessened any by the knowledge that she was suffering as well as he. He had intended to be with them early in the morning; but sleep had chained him down as if in revenge for his nonsensical exertion on the previous night. And it was well along toward noon when he arrived at their door. “I am so glad you are come,” cried Norine, as she met him with outstretched hands. “We did not know when to expect you, and you did not write,” pouting a little. He gathered the two small hands closely in his. He was satisfied. At least she was glad to see him. “I did not think to write,” he said, looking at her fondly. “And I did not know that I could get away until just before I started.” “You are so good,” said Norine, “to take all that trouble off Jim’s hands; but you see he had me to take care of, so he could not stay.” Conway laughed lightly. “It was no great matter. But now I think of it, Jim might have given me the easier job.” “What was that?” inquired Norine, raising her brows. “What was it? Why, taking care of you, of course.” They were standing together by the window; but at his words, and the fond smile that accompanied them, she moved a little away from him. In her joy at seeing her lover she had forgotten for a moment. Conway noticed the movement and sighed bitterly. “No doubt you were better pleased as it was,” he said gloomily; and he turned and made a pretense of looking over some books on the table, that she might not see his face. Norine followed him: she laid her hand softly upon his arm and looked up into his averted face. “You do not think that, Lester,” she said, her lips trembling a little. “And you must not be cruel. It is not my fault, dear.” He turned impulsively and caught her to his heart. “I was a brute,” he said passionately; “but I could not help it, dear. I will not hurt you again.” Norine disengaged herself, palpitating a little from the ardor of his embrace.