The day was warm and she wore a dress of thin white mull, through whose transparent texture her plump arms and shoulders gleamed rosy-white. Her hat had fallen off, and the loose dark curls half confined by a scarlet ribbon, drooped against the graceful neck, and contrasted with the warm pink of a round cheek nestled in a dainty hand. On this picture of beauty in distress fell pretty flecks of sunlight from between the green boughs overhead, bringing out glints of brightness from the wavy curls, that in the shade always looked so dark and rich, and Cecil remembered that there were golden lights in her eyes, too, when she was pleased and happy. Then he caught himself up again with a jerk. “Happy! How can she ever be happy again with that tramp of a lover on her mind?” angrily. Something--he scarce knew what, but most probably that sullen misery that was so new, so bitter, and so humiliating--drove him to her side. Slipping noiselessly from the luxurious hammock he stole around the tree and sat down by her side, touching the bowed head lightly with his hand, and murmuring with uncontrollable fondness: “Louise!” Molly gave a great, frightened start and whirled around. “Oh, it’s you, Cecil Laurens, is it? Well, then, what do you want?” she demanded, wrathfully, angered because he had caught her in distress. For once he was not angered at her sharp retort. He comprehended now something of what she was enduring, and made patient allowance for her pain. “Do not be angry, Louise. I want nothing only to tell you how sorry I am for you, and how gladly I would help you in your trouble,” he said so gently that she stared at him in amazement, although she said brusquely: “Trouble! I have no trouble!” “Ah, Louise, you can not deceive me any longer. Look yonder! I was in that hammock just now and saw your companion, also heard some of his words!” “Spy!” she exclaimed indignantly, although she grew pale and trembled like the leaves on the tree above her head. Again he put a stern guard on himself, and would not resent her rudeness. “It is despair that makes her hard!” he thought, and answered gently: “I did not mean to be a spy, Louise, I was in the hammock when you came here, and presently _he_ came and spoke to you. I could not help hearing what was said until you walked away with him. But--do not look so frightened--I did not follow you!” He saw a gleam of palpable relief flash into the white face, and comprehended that she was glad he had not heard what was spoken in that walk under the trees. “But _I had heard enough_!” he said slowly, after a pause. “Ah, Louise, I was right when I told you that it was a lover who was drawing your heart back to your old home.” She looked at him pale and startled, but with mute defiance. “A--a--lover!” she echoed, wildly. “Now I suppose you will go and tell Aunt Thalia of your wonderful discovery!” in a tone of terrified entreaty.