"'Just suppose that, my dear,' continued Robert, 'and that the letter were now before us--would you abide by its contents? Remember, he must have much to explain. Would you let me decide whether his explanation were satisfactory or not?" "She was trembling with expectation, hope. But she tried to think of the matter calmly, to remember her lover's hurried flight, the lack of word or message for her, her own misery. She nodded silently, and held out her hand. "He drew a letter from his pocket. 'You will let me see it?' he said suspiciously. "'Oh, yes!' she cried, and fled with it to the window. He watched her while she tore it open and read first one page and then another--there were but two, it was very short--watched her while she thrust it from her and looked at it as a whole, then drew it to her and kissed it again and again. "'Wait a bit! wait a bit!' cried he testily. 'Now, let me see it.' "She turned upon him almost fiercely, holding it away behind her, as if it were some living thing he might hurt. 'He thought he would meet me at the junction,' she stammered between laughing and crying. 'He was going to London to see his sister--that she might take me in. And he will be here to fetch me this evening. There! Take it!' and suddenly remembering herself she stretched out her hand and gave him the letter. "'You promised to abide by my decision, you know,' said the old man gravely. "'I will not!' she cried impetuously. 'Never!' "'You promised,' he said. "'I don't care! I don't care!' she replied, clasping her hands nervously. 'No one shall come between us.' "'Very well,' said Robert Evans, 'then I need not decide. But you had better tell Owen to take the trap to the station to meet your man.'" IN CUPID'S TOILS. I. HER STORY. "Clare," I said, "I wish that we had brought some better clothes, if it were only one frock. You look the oddest figure." And she did. She was lying head to head with me on the thick moss that clothed one part of the river bank above Breistolen near the Sogn Fiord. We were staying at Breistolen, but there was no moss thereabouts, nor in all the Sogn district, I often thought, so deep and soft, and so dazzling orange and white and crimson as that particular patch. It lay quite high upon the hills, and there were great gray bowlders peeping through the moss here and there, very fit to break your legs, if you were careless. Little more than a mile higher up was the watershed, where our river, putting away with reluctance a first thought of going down the farther slope toward Bysberg, parted from its twin brother, who was thither bound with scores upon scores of puny, green-backed fishlets; and instead, came down our side gliding and swishing and swirling faster and faster, and deeper and wider every hundred yards to Breistolen, full of red-speckled yellow trout, all half a pound apiece, and very good to eat.