She had risen in her excitement, and stood upon her feet. Suddenly she flushed a rosy red, and a strange light shone in her eyes. The sun had sunk behind the hills, and it had grown dark. As the shadows gathered in the room a strange, mystic light fell on the wall before her. A picture--dim, ghostly, gigantic, and surpassingly beautiful--met her astonished eyes. She gazed at it with a beating heart, awed into silence by its mystery and its unearthly aspect. What was it? What did it mean? By what magic art had he conjured up this vision? She stood with parted lips gazing at it, while her bosom rose and fell with her rapid, excited breathing. Suddenly she threw her arms above her head, and with a cry fell back upon the chair. "Oh, Elmer! My heart----" He had been gazing absently out of the window at the fading twilight, and hearing her cry of pain, he turned hastily and said: "Alma, what is it? Are you----" He caught sight of the picture on the wall. He understood it at once, and went to the stereopticon that stood at the other end of the room and opened it. The lamp was burning brightly, and he put it out and closed the door. Then he drew out the glass slide, held it a moment to the light to make sure that it was Alma's portrait, and then he kissed it passionately, and shivered it into fragments upon the hearthstone. She heard the breaking glass, and rose hastily and turned toward him. "Elmer, that was cruel. Why did you destroy it?" "Because it told too much." "It was my picture?" "Yes. I confess with shame that I stole it when you were asleep under the influence of the gas I gave you. It happened to be in the lantern when you came in." "And so I saw it pictured on the wall?" "Yes. In that way did it betray me. Forget it, Alma. Forget me. Forget everything. Forget that I ever came here----" "No--never. I cannot." "You will be married soon and go away. I presume we may never meet again." "Oh, Elmer, forgive me. I am the one to be forgiven. I am alone to blame for all this sorrow. I thought I alone should suffer. But--but, Elmer, you will not forget me, and you see--you must see that what I do is for the best. It is the only way. I cannot see my father beggared." The clear-headed son of science seemed to be losing his self-control. This was all so new, so exciting, so different from the calm and steady flow of his student life, that he knew not what to say or do. He began to turn over his books and papers in a nervous manner, as if trying to win back control of his own tumultuous thoughts. Fortunately Alma came to his rescue. "Elmer, hear me." "Yes," he said with an effort. "Tell me about it; then perhaps we can understand each other better." "I will. Come and sit by me. It grows dark, and I--well, it is no matter. It will do me good to speak of it." "Yes, do. Sorrow shared is divided by half." "And joy shared is doubled," she added. "But we will not talk of 'the might have been.'"