whether he meant to permit himself to be said good-by to. And he knew that he did not. The day had been long, but it seemed to him that already the night had been longer than the day. Could he have mistaken the hour? No, it was certainly twelve--or thirteen. Then his heart leaped up. If it _had_ been thirteen, that meant one o'clock. Perhaps it was not one yet. But he felt that he knew it to be at least three. Yet if it were three there would be the diffused faint illumination of dawn growing, growing. And there was no light at all but the changeless light of the stars. Again and again he thought he saw her, thought he heard her. And again and again only silence and solitude came to meet his thoughts. When at last she did come he saw her very far off, and heard the rustle of her dress even before he saw her. He would not go to meet her across the starlit space; that would be very dangerous. He stood where he was till she came into the shadow. Then he went toward her and said: "At last!" She drew a long breath. "Oh, I was so afraid you wouldn't come!" "I was here at twelve," he said. "So you got the handkerchief. I put thirteen because I thought if I put one--it was so difficult to write--and, of course, I couldn't look at it to see if it was readable. I wrote it under the driving-rug. Oh, suppose you hadn't got it!" "I can't suppose it. What should I have done if I hadn't?" "Oh," she said, "don't! Please don't. I thought you'd understand it was serious. I shouldn't have asked you to come in the middle of the night to talk nonsense as if we were at a dance." "What's serious?" he said. She said, "Everything," and her voice trembled. He took her arm, and felt that she herself was trembling. "Come and sit down," he said, comfortably, as one might speak to a child in trouble. "Come and sit down and tell me all about it." They sat down on the log, and he pulled the dark cloak she wore more closely round her. "Now," he said, "what's happened? Why didn't you come this morning?" "I stayed too long the first time," she answered, "and met Aunt Loo as I went in. She asked me where I'd been. I said I'd been out to swim in the lake. That was quite true. That _was_ why I had gone out. I've often done it. But, of course, my hair wasn't wet. She didn't say anything. But this morning when I came down she was sitting in the hall, waiting for me. She asked me if I was going bathing again, and I said, No, I was going to walk in the park. So she said, 'Charming idea. I'll come, too.'" "And what did you say?" "I said, 'Do,' of course. But it was awful. I was so afraid of her seeing you." "Suppose she _had_ chosen to walk that way." "Yes, of course I thought of that. So _I_ led the way and walked straight toward you. Then she thought whoever I was going to meet must be the other way. So she insisted on going the other way. I knew she would." "That was subtle of you." "No; it's only that she's stupid. It wouldn't have taken any one else in."