ed Woman did not know whether or not she loved him. She could not make up her mind. Gordon gradually began to lose heart and finally gave up all hope of ever marrying her. He was unutterably miserable. He knew not which way to turn. Only one thing still contributed toward his meagre allowance of pleasure—riding out into the country in the red automobile by the side of Marcia Loring.
I have never heard of a poet writing a sonnet on the glory of Beechwood, and yet the atmosphere was romantic to a degree worthy of Saadi himself. Great spruce, pine and weeping-willow trees bordered the avenues, standing as erect and stately as the magnificent columns in an Egyptian Temple. A beauteous atmosphere of peace seemed to prevail everywhere throughout the quiet little town. There was no disturbing element of discord; all Nature seemed in tune with God.
As Gordon and Marcia motored down a certain splendid avenue one cool, moon-lit summer evening, she noticed that he was unusually quiet. As a rule he was ultra-talkative, but to-night he uttered scarcely a word, and that only in reply to a direct question. She gazed wonderingly up into his worried face.
"You are very grave to-night," she whispered.
"I am tired, very tired," he returned, "and worried."
"Worried?" she repeated, with puzzled inflection.
"Yes," said he.
"Why?"
"Because I am going away. It is not of my own free will," he went on, quickly. "If I could choose for myself I should remain with you till the end of time. But there are times when we must obey a higher law than our own will, and this is one of them. The need of my going is imperative." His voice grew soft, and there was a wistful note of yearning in his tone, as he continued: "I am glad now, for your sake, that you did not accept my offer of marriage, because, had you done so, we would have come to the parting of the ways, unless—"
"Unless what?" she broke in.
"Unless you cared to go with me."
She made no reply but gazed listlessly off toward the distant meadow-land bathed in moonlight, her chin upon her hand, her elbow resting on the side of the automobile.
Presently he spoke again, and his voice was so soft that it fell upon her ear like the echo of the softly sighing breeze among the tree-tops.
"Many years ago, at Bedford Village, there lived two lads who loved each other like David and Jonathan. Most of their days were spent together roaming joyfully about the country-side. They were very happy. Life for them was just a beautiful song of mingled youth and friendship. One day while romping in a deserted barn, the two made a compact that they would always be ready to go to each other's aid in time of peril or trouble. Like Penn's treaty with the Indians, it was never sworn to and never broken. Years rolled by and the paths of the two boys lay far apart, although their hearts remained together. One entered college, the other became an explorer. He was in his element when off in search of unknown places, and made several expeditions into unknown Labrador. But although he enjoyed these to the full, nevertheless he longed to get out into the heart of the tropic wilds. Finally the great day came and he sailed for Africa. After a trifle over three weeks, he beheld the beauty of Mombassa as he came on deck one fiery, molten morning. At last he stood at the gate of his ambition. From Mom-
