The town clock in the schoolhouse was tolling eleven, as Miss Morgan
turned the key in the front door. The night was starry and inviting,
and as her house stood among the trees, somewhat back from the street,
Miss Morgan did not feel afraid to sit in a porch chair, refreshing
herself, before going indoors. The wind brought the odor of the lilacs
from the bush at the house corner, and the woman sat drinking in the
fragrance. She saw a pair of lovers strolling by, who did not observe
her. She could hear the murmur of their voices; she did not try to
catch their words. She sat silently dreaming and wondering. Again and
again her eyes went to the stars in a vain questioning, and her lips
moved. Maybe she was asking "where," maybe she was asking "why." As
the moments slipped by, the years fell away from her. She had carried
her little romance in her heart unsullied by reality. To-night the
talk of Memorial Day had brought it all back, and the thrill of other
days returned with the odor of the lilacs. She yielded to a vague,
crazy notion, and in an impulsive, girlish run she went to the corner
of the porch and broke a sprig from the lilac-tree.

Then with a short sigh, that had just the hint of a smile in it, she
took the lilac sprig into the house. Perhaps she fancied that no one
would see the flowers but she. Maybe the oppressive stillness of the
empty house burdened her. Certainly something was heavy upon her, for
there was no smile in the sigh that came deeply from her heart, as she
locked the door. It must have seemed lonely for Miss Morgan, coming
from the crowded parlor, and the questions that her friends asked
about her plans may have followed her. Perhaps it was the answer to
these questions that kept her awake. She sat by her window and went
over and over again the question, what should she do. The wedding that
had so recently livened the cottage kept coming to the little old