said I sentimentally.

But she only laughed at me and led the way across the dreary strip of clearing, moving with a swift confidence in her knowledge of the place, which imitating, I ran foul of a charred stump, and she heard what I said.

“Poor lad!” she exclaimed contritely, slipping her hand into mine. “I should have guided you. Does it pain you?”

“Not much.”

Our hands were clasped, and she pressed mine with all the sweet freedom of a comradeship which means nothing deeper. For I now had learned from her own lips, sadly enough, how it was with her — how she regarded our friendship. It was to her a deep and living thing — a noble emotion, not a passion — a belief