man approaching whose dress showed him to be Smith's Quaker convert,
Angel Halsey, a name she had conned till it had become familiar. He did
not pass, but opened the gate of the small garden path and came up
between the two borders of sweet-smelling box. In the garden China
asters, zenias, and prince's feather, dahlias, marigolds, and
love-lies-bleeding were falling over one another in luxuriant waste. The
young man neither looked to night nor to left. He scanned the house
eagerly, and his eyes found the window at which Susannah sat. He stepped
across the flowers and stood, his blonde face upturned, below the open
sash. Under his light eyebrows his hazel eyes shone with a singularly
bright and exalted expression.

"Come, friend Susannah," said he, "I have been sent to bring you to
witness my baptism," and with that he turned and walked slowly down the
path, as if waiting for her to follow.

Susannah, filled with surprise, watched him as he made slowly for the
gate, as if assured that she would come. When he got to it he set it
open, and, holding it, looked back.

She dropped the long folds of muslin, and they fell upon the floor
knee-deep about her; she stepped out of them and walked across the old
familiar living-room, with its long strips of worn rag-carpet, its old
polished chairs, and smoky walls. The face of the eight-day clock stared
hard at her with impassive yet kindly glance, but its voice only
steadily recorded that the moments were passing one by one, like to all
other moments.

Susannah went out of the door. The sun drew forth aromatic scent from
the borders of box, and her light skirt brushed the blossoms that leaned