He looked at her steadily a moment. "God bless you, dear," he said.

"Oh, Gifford!" cried the girl, and with a sudden impulse she stooped and
kissed his forehead; then, half frightened at what she had done, but not
yet regretting it, she brushed past him, and went swiftly up the path to
the rectory.

The young man stood quite still a moment, with reverent head bent as
though he had received a benediction, and then turned and followed her.




CHAPTER III.


Lois Howe's mind was in a strange tumult that night; the subtile thrill,
which is neither pain nor pride, and yet seems both, with which a young
woman hears for the first time that she is loved, stung through all her
consciousness of grief at having wounded her old friend. Tears came into
her eyes once, and yet she did not know why; perhaps it was anger. How
could Gifford have been so foolish as to talk that way, and make her have
to say what she did? The old friendship was what she wanted. And then
more tears came; and for the first time in her simple girlish life, Lois
could not understand her own heart.

It was because Helen had gone away, she said to herself, and she was
tired; and that gave her the right to cry with all her heart, which was
a great relief.