“You might not have time before sailing. I think you'd better go up to-day, and then you could call on Constance to say good-bye.” “I don't like to leave you on our last day,” he said uneasily, “Oh, that will be all right, dear,” she smiled, patting his hand. “I have oceans to do, and I think you ought to see Constance. Get your letter of credit for a thousand dollars, then you'll be sure to have enough.” “A thousand! Great Scott, Adolph would think I'd robbed a bank if I had all that.” “You don't need to spend it, silly, but you ought to have it behind you. You never know what might happen.” “Would there be plenty left for you?” “Bless me, yes,” she laughed; “we're quite rich.” While he was gone Mary arranged an impromptu farewell party for him, so that instead of spending a rather depressing evening alone with her, as he had expected, he found himself surrounded by cheerful friends--McEwan, the Farradays, their next neighbors, the Havens, and one or two others. McEwan was the last to leave, at nearly midnight, and pleading fatigue, Mary kissed Stefan good night at the door of her room. She dared not linger with him lest the stifled pain at her heart should clamor for expression too urgently to be denied. But by this time he himself began to feel the impending separation. Ready for bed, he slipped into her room and found her lying wide-eyed in a swathe of moonlight. Without a word he lay down beside her and drew her close. Like children lost in the dark, they slept all night in each other's arms. Next day Mary saw him off. New York ended at the gangway. Across it, they were in France. French decorations, French faces, French gaiety, the beloved French tongue, were everywhere. “Listen to it, Mary,” he cried exultingly, and she smiled a cheerful response. When the warning bell sounded he suddenly became grave. “Say good-bye again to Elliston for me, dear,” he said, holding her hand close. “I hope he grows up like you.” Her eyes were swimming now, in spite of herself. “Mary,” he went on, “this separation makes or mars us. I hope, dear, I believe, it will make us. God bless you.” He kissed her, pressed her to him. Suddenly they were both trembling. “Why are we parting?” he cried, in a revulsion of feeling. She smiled at him, wiping away her tears. “It's better, dearest,” she whispered; “let me go now.” They kissed again; she turned hurriedly away. He watched her cross the gangway--she waved to him from the dock--then the crowd swallowed her. For a moment he felt bitterly bereaved. “How ironic life is,” he thought. Then a snatch of French chatter and a gay laugh reached him. The gangway lifted, water widened between the bulwarks and the dock. As the ship swung out he caught the sea breeze--a flight of gulls swept by--he was outbound! With a deep breath Stefan turned a brilliant smile upon the deck ... Freedom!