As the train rocked down the mountain-side next day, past tobacco-fields stripped bare, and orchards where no red fruit shone, and fields now brown and sere, and as it sped over the low country, Lawson had one thought. He would see, when the train pulled into Richmond, somewhere in the throng about the station Frances' bright face and serene shining eyes. She would be there with those of the city who came to welcome them. The travellers laughed and jested, sang and cheered and yelled, Lawson with them, his heart light as a boy's; but all of this outward atmosphere was like a dream to him,—the reality was the vision he saw of a girl's face. He was first out of the coach. His eager eyes searched the crowd. In all the press was not one face he knew. He was half resentful when he was hurried away, and glum and silent in the midst of the joyful hubbub around him.

[Pg 168]

Then he pulled himself together; she was out on the grounds, of course. When the game began, his inattention and wretched play fairly lost the day, until the wrath of the captain called and kept him to the work in hand. He stayed the night in Richmond, went to the play, loitered about the shopping streets next day, and saw only strangers or those who had come down from the mountains with them.

Late that afternoon, tired, disgusted, self-scornful, he took a train for home. When he passed the professor's house he saw a beam of light shine out on the quadrangle on a spot where no gleam had shone for many a night.

He walked deliberately out on the sward and looked up. He cared not who saw him or who chaffed him, and a University man has to order his life with care if he wishes it not to become a burden to him. Fortunately it was late, and there were no men about corridor or campus. He stood watching; it might be the old negress there for all he knew.

[Pg 169]

The curtains were pulled aside, the casement opening on the balcony was flung open, and a tall supple figure stood outlined sharply against the flood of light behind her. His heart seemed pulsing in his throat and choking him. Then Frances stepped lightly out on the porch and began to unfasten the heavy shutters from the clasps holding them back to the brick wall.

He walked quickly across till he stood under the balcony's edge; the vine climbing the pillar was bare, its dry branches rustling in the night wind.

"Frances!" he called softly.

There was no answer, and he heard a light footstep across the porch and a rattling at the other shutter.

"Miss Holloway!" he called distinctly.

"Who is there? Where—"

The voice called again; she leaned over the railing and saw a tall figure below looming in the star-lit dusk. "Who is it?" she asked, a quick catch in her breath.

"Do you not know me?" reproachfully.

"Mr. Lawson?" the voice was low and full,[Pg ............