opening it, went into a yard shut off from the
street by a row of dwarf cedars, Warwick had
already discounted in some measure the surprise he
would have felt at seeing her enter there had he
not walked down Front Street behind her. There
was still sufficient unexpectedness about the act,
however, to give him a decided thrill of pleasure.

"It must be Rena," he murmured. "Who
could have dreamed that she would blossom out
like that? It must surely be Rena!"

He walked slowly past the gate and peered
through a narrow gap in the cedar hedge. The
girl was moving along a sanded walk, toward a
gray, unpainted house, with a steep roof, broken
by dormer windows. The trace of timidity he had
observed in her had given place to the more assured
bearing of one who is upon his own ground. The
garden walks were bordered by long rows of jonquils,
pinks, and carnations, inclosing clumps of
fragrant shrubs, lilies, and roses already in bloom.
Toward the middle of the garden stood two fine
magnolia-trees, with heavy, dark green, glistening
leaves, while nearer the house two mighty elms
shaded a wide piazza, at one end of which a
honeysuckle vine, and at the other a Virginia creeper,
running over a wooden lattice, furnished additional
shade and seclusion. On dark or wintry
days, the aspect of this garden must have been