"Oh, Harold!" she cried, throwing her arms suddenly about him and
clinging to him, "I have no one else to speak to but you: I cannot
tell my father; he would not understand. No girl ever felt so horribly
alone as I have felt to-day. If it had not been for you I believe I
should have killed myself; but you are everything to me, only--_how_
can I tell you?"

He tightened his arms about her and kissed her.

"Don't kiss me," she exclaimed sharply, trying to free herself.

"Why not?" he demanded, in surprise. "Why should I not kiss you?"

She let her head drop again to his shoulder. "True," she said; "why
should you not? It is only that I forget that I am not the woman I
dreamed I was; and for her--it was wrong to kiss you."

"Weir, tell me your dream at once. It is for your good as well as
mine that I insist. You will be miserable and terrified until you take
someone into your confidence. I believe I can explain your dream, as
well as give you the comfort of talking it over with you."

She slipped suddenly out of his arms and walked quickly to the end
of the room and back, pausing within a few feet of him. The room was
growing dark, and he could distinguish little of her beyond the tall
outline of her form and the unnatural brilliancy of her eyes, but he
respected her wish and remained where he was.

"Very well," she said, rapidly. "I will tell you. I went to