forth a new man. And how strange had been the ending, how strange and
simple, and yet how significant, typifying the broad, clean outlook on
life, bringing coherency to his tottering mind, had been those words of
Thornton's--"because he loved her."

He had reached the end of the wagon track now, and he walked across the
lawn, his steps noiseless on the velvet sward, and passed between the
maples; and the moon gleam--for the flying clouds, rear-guard of the
routed storm, were flung wide apart, dispersed--fell upon a coiled and
huddled little figure all in white, that was quite still and motionless
upon the rustic seat beside the porch.

She did not see him, did not hear him, until he stood before her and
called her name.

"Helena!" he said unsteadily. "Helena!"

She raised her head and looked at him; and then she rose from the bench,
and, still holding to it by one hand, drew back a little. There was no
outcry, no startled action. Her dark eyes played questioningly upon
him--and he could see that they were wet with tears, and that the face
from out of which they looked was very white.

"Why have you come back here to-night?" she asked in a low tone; and
then, suddenly, a fear, a terror in her voice, as the Flopper's warning
flashed upon her: "Thornton--you have seen Thornton?"

"Yes," he said, surprised a little that she should know; "I saw Thornton
a few minutes ago."