“I'm not much account,” he said laboriously; “you see, I never stuck at anything, and, somehow, things have never stuck to me. It was that way at school--I was expelled from four. I'm supposed to be shiftless.” “I don't care in the least for that!” she declared; “only one thing is really important to me... something, oh, so different.” Suddenly she laid her hand upon his sleeve, and, pitifully white, faced him. “I've had the beautifullest feeling about you,” she whispered; “Anthony, tell me truly, are you... good?” A sob rose uncontrollably in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears that spilled over his cheeks. For a moment he struggled to check them, then, unashamed, slipped onto his knees before her and held her tightly in his arms. “No one in the world can say that I am not--what you mean.” She stooped, and sat beside him on the stone, holding his hand close to her slight body. “My dream,” she said simply. “I didn't understand it at first; you see, I was only a child. And then when I grew older, and--and heard things, it seemed impossible. That sort of goodness only bored other girls... they liked men of the world, men with a past. I thought perhaps I was only morbid, and lost trust in--in you.” “It was a kind of accident,” he admitted; “I never thought about it the way you did. It seemed young to me.” “I don't believe it was an accident in the least,” she insisted. A mist rose greyly from the darker surface of the stream, and settled cold and clammy about Anthony's face. It drew about them in wavering garlands, growing steadily denser. Eliza was sitting now pressed against him, and he felt a shiver run through her. “You are cold!” he cried instantly, and rose, lifting her to her feet. She smiled, in his arms, and he bent down and kissed her. She clung to him with a deep sigh, and met his lips steadily with her own. The mist slipped like a veil over Eliza's head and drops of moisture shone in her hair. Anthony turned and unfastened the canoe; and, suddenly conscious of the length of their delay, he urged it with long sweeps over the stream. Beyond the lilacs, distilling their potent sweetness in the dark, Eliza was motionless, silent, a flicker of white in the gloom. They swept almost immediately into the broad reach where they had started. The lights from the windows of a boat house, the voices of the others, streamed gaily over the water. He felt Eliza tremble as he lifted her ashore. “It's happiness,” she told him; “I am ever so warm inside.” XVII BY his plate at the lunch table he discovered, the following day, a small, lavender envelope stamped and addressed to Anthony Ball, Esq. He slipped it hastily into his pocket, and managed but a short-lived pretext of eating. Then, with the letter yet unopened, he left Ellerton, and penetrated into the heart of the countryside.