Slowly Ida and Arthur Hollis walked together over the beautiful green lawn, Vivian Deane creeping like the shadow of fate after them.

Arthur seated Ida in her favorite nook on the mossy stone. For a moment neither of them spoke; then he suddenly caught her little hand in his. Ida did not know why she trembled, why her hand grew cold in his clasp.

There was not a cloud in the blue sky overhead. The cool, sweet breeze shook the rose leaves and scattered them on the grass; the leaves of the oak-trees stirred on the great boughs. A calm, sweet and solemn in its beauty, stole over them.

[170]

"Ida," he whispered, hoarsely, "did ever a great pity fill your heart for any one? If so, let pity fill it now for me, for I am in need of it."

"Why?" she asked, looking wonderingly up at him.

"How I shall look back to this hour when I am gone!" he said, brokenly.

"When I am gone!" The words had a sad murmur in them, like the fall of autumn leaves. They pierced the very heart of the girl who heard them.

"When you are gone?" she repeated. "What do you mean?"

"I am going away within the hour," he said. "The telegram I received calls me back to Baltimore by the first train," he added.

Involuntarily Ida drew closer to him, her face paling. Suddenly the light went out of the sun, the glory faded from the blue sky; the music of the birds was hushed, the bitterness of death seemed to have fallen over her heart.

"Going away?" She repeated the words over and over again, but she could not realize their meaning.

"I—I have been so happy, I forgot you would have to go away," she said, slowly.

"I am going down to Central America. I may die of fever and never come back," he answered, with passionate pain in his voice. "If I am spared to return, it may not be for years. I will have passed out of your thoughts by that time. You will have forgotten the pleasant hours we spent together, forgotten our rambles through the sunny hours. You will have grown into a woman of the world by that time. You have not begun life yet."

"I feel as though I had finished with it," she murmured.

She did not try to check the words that came throbbing to her lips.

"I wish you had not come into my life only to go out of it," she added, with passionate pain.

He looked at her, and strong man though he was, his lips trembled. She had raised her face to his, and she[171] looked so beautiful, so unhappy, that he turned away with a groan which came from the very depths of his heart.

Vivian Deane had crept near enough to hear the first words that had passed between them. She knew that he had received a telegram calling him away. He had either taken Ida Mallard down to the brook-side to say good-bye, or to urge her to elope with him. Most likely the latter.

She would go and fetch Eugene. He should be a silent witness to the scene; then her vengeance would be complete.

She knew his pride, his temper. She knew he would not raise his voice to utter one word to stay her steps. He would spurn her, he would force her to go.

Vivian hurried back to the dancers on the lawn. Eugene Mallard was standing apart from his guests. She glided up to him and laid a little white hand upon his arm.

"Eugene," she said, in a voice which trembled with excitement, "I have always been your true friend. If I saw you in danger, my first impulse would be to save you. If I saw an enemy pointing a deadly arrow at your heart, I would try to turn it aside. If I saw a dark cloud hanging over you, my first impulse would be to warn you."

"I anticipate what you are going to say, Vivian," he broke in, with an expression of annoyance on his face. "You are going to repeat some gossip to me, and I will say, before you begin, that I do not care to hear it."

"If you will not heed the words of warning of one who wishes you well, you must submit to the jeers of the whole country. I advise you to go to the brook-side, where your wife is saying farewell to Art............