happiness, and I could not help hoping."

"And you still wait--still hope?"

Ida made no direct answer. She gazed far off at the
indistinguishable border-land of sea and sky, and when she spoke it
was in a softened tone.

"When I was here last, I was seven years old. Now I am not quite
nineteen. How long I have lived since then--how long! Yet my life
didnot really begin till I was about eleven. Till then I was a
happy child, understanding nothing. Between then and now, if I have
discovered little good either in myself or in others, I have learned
by heart everything that is bad in the world. Nothing in meanness or
vileness or wretchedness is a secret to me. Compare me with other
girls of nineteen--perhaps still at school. What sort of a
companion should I be for one of those, I wonder! What strange
thoughts I should have, if ever I talked with such a girl; how old I
should feel myself beside her!"

"Your knowledge is better in my eyes than their ignorance. My ideal
woman is the one who, knowing every darkest secret of life, keeps
yet a pure mind--as you do, Ida."

She was silent so long that Waymark spoke again.

"Your mother died when you were eleven!"

"Yes, and that was when my life began. My mother was very poor, but
she managed to send me to a pretty good school. But for that, my