"There's no use in my telling you. There was no use in my coming. Oh, I realise that perfectly well now. And I think I'd better go----" She lingered a moment, glanced at the stream running gold in the afternoon light, then turned away, bidding him good-bye in a low voice. "Are you g-going?" he blurted out, not knowing exactly what he was saying. She moved on in silence. He looked after her. A perfectly illogical feeling of despair overwhelmed him. "For Heaven's sake, don't go away!" he said. She moved on a pace, another, more slowly, hesitated, halted, leisurely looked back over her shoulder. "What did you say?" she asked. "I said--I said--I said----" but he began to stammer fearfully and could get no farther. Perhaps she thought he was threatened with some kind of seizure; anyway, something about him apparently interested her enough to slowly retrace her steps. "What is the matter, Mr. Sayre?" she asked. "Why, _that's_ funny!" he said; "you know my name?" "Yes, I know your name." "Could--would--should--might----" he could get no farther. "What?" "M-might I--would it be--could you----" "Are you trying to ask me what is _my_ name?" "Yes," he said; "did you think I was reciting a lesson in grammar?" Suddenly the rare smile played delicately along the edges of her upcurled mouth. "No," she said, "I knew you were embarrassed. It wasn't nice of me. But," and her face grew grave, "there is no use in my telling you my name." "Why?" "Because we shall not meet again." "Won't you ever let me--give me a chance--because--you know, somehow--seeing you yesterday--and to-day--this way----" "Yes, I know what you mean." "Do you?" "Yes. _I_ came back, too," she said seriously. A strange, inexplicable tingling pervaded him. "You came--came----" "Yes. I should not have done it, because I saw you perfectly plainly yesterday. But--somehow I hoped--somehow----" "What!" "That there had been a mistake." "You thought you knew me?" "Oh, no. I knew perfectly well I had never before seen you. That made no difference. It wasn't that. But I thought--hoped--I had made a mistake. In fact," she said, with a slight effort, "I was dishonest with myself. I knew all the time that it was useless. And as soon as I saw you with your cap off----" "W-what!" he faltered. A slight blush, perfectly distinct in her creamy skin, grew, then waned. "I am sorry," she said. "Of course, you do not understand what I am saying; and I can not explain. . . . And I think I had--better--go." "Please don't." "That is an added reason for my going." "What is?" "Your saying 'please don't.'" He looked at her, bewildered, and slowly passed his hand across his eyes. "Somehow," he said, "this is all like magic to me. Here in the wilderness I hear a stick crack----" "I meant you to hear it. I could have moved without a sound." "And, looking up, I see the most beautif--I see--you. Then I dream of you." "_Did_ you?"