"He didn't have to do anything more after that," said Anne Oglesby slowly. "He had not had time to say anything before that." "He should not have kissed you," said Aurora Lane. "But that was his farewell to you." "It was not farewell!" said Anne Oglesby. "It was our beginning! I will _not_ give him up. If he had not kissed me--just when he did--just as he did--I would not have known! I'm glad!" Aurora Lane looked at her searchingly, slowly. "Poor girl!" said she. "Dear girl! He could not help loving you--I cannot help it myself. You are the only woman in the world, I think, for him." "I am not good enough," said Anne Oglesby stoutly. But then suddenly she cast both her strong young arms about the neck of Aurora Lane and dropped her head upon Aurora's shoulder. "Oh, yes I am!" she said; "oh, yes I _am_! I know I must have been meant for him, or else--else--" But she did not as yet reveal the secret of the Sphinx. They both fell silent. "Ah, sacrifice!" said Aurora, wearily, after a time. "Sacrifice always for the woman. We are all so bent on that." "There's much more than that," said Anne Oglesby, sagely. "Besides, sacrifice itself is not an odious thing. You sacrificed much of your life, your happiness, your freedom. Are you sorry for that now, or proud?" "Dear girl!" murmured Aurora Lane, patting her on the shoulder. "Ah, you sweet girl! If you could only just remain always this young and wise--and ignorant!" But Anne Oglesby seemed not to hear her. She was looking out of the window musingly now, her yellow-gloved hands supported on her tight-rolled umbrella, her hat making a half-shadow for her dark hair and her clear, definite features. Now the red sun ball, having well completed its circuit over the parched and breathless town, was sinking to yet another lurid sunset. There lay over all a blanket of that humid heat which so often arrests activity in communities such as this, situated in the interior, where few cooling breezes come. The dry, dust-covered leaves of the maples hung unmoved. Here and there, still hitched to the iron piping which served as a rail on all sides of the courthouse fence, stood the teams of farmers still tarrying, unwilling to face the hot ride home from town, even though the duty of church attendance was long since past. A murder and a funeral--a Knights Templar funeral--Spring Valley had never known the like! And there was going to be a trial--a murder trial. Court would sit tomorrow. What village could ask more than was the portion of Spring Valley in these few hurrying days? And it was her boy, 'Rory Lane's; and she'd fooled everybody--but now----! Spring Valley licked its chops as it said "But now----"