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My silence implied that I knew it, though I did not feel any brighter, happier or cleaner.

"We're going to get married, mamma, mamma;

I found but one white figure under the dim veranda eaves. "Miss Camille?"

"My dear Smith," said Miss Rothvelt, "keep your trust. But if I part here with these two kind gentlemen--"

"No," she laughed, "and if I go back with you to Wiggins--to the little white cottage, you know, opposite the blacksmith's shop,--you'll give me what you've got for me, won't you?" She dropped her head to one side and a mocking-bird chuckle rippled in her throat.

What do you say?--Yes, she might have spoken more wisely. Yet always there vibrated in her voice a wealth of thought, now bitter, now sweet, and often both at once, and a splendor of emotions, beyond the scope of all ordinary natures. How far beyond my own scope they were, even with my passions at flood-tide and turbid as a back-street overflow, I failed to ponder while I passed around the paling fence alone.

"I haven't been ordered to tell any one where I'm going."

"Cruel to you?" I took her hand from my arm and held it.

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