In after-years Darsie Garnett looked back upon the day of that year on which the Masonic Ball was held with feelings of tender recollection, as a piece of her girlhood which was altogether bright and unclouded. She met the Percival party at one o'clock, and went with them to lunch in Ralph's rooms, where two other men had been invited to make the party complete. There was hardly room to stir in the overcrowded little study, but the crush seemed but to add to the general hilarity.

Ralph made the gayest and most genial of hosts, and the luncheon provided for his guests was a typical specimen of the daring hospitality of his kind! Iced soup, lobster mayonnaise, salmon and green peas, veal cutlets and mushrooms, trifle, strawberries and cream, and strong coffee, were pressed in turns upon the guests, who—be it acknowledged at once—ate, drank, enjoyed, and went forth in peace. Later in the afternoon the little party strolled down to the river, and in the evening there was fresh feasting, leading up to the culminating excitement of all—the ball itself.

Beside the Percivals' Parisian creations, Darsie's simple dress made but a poor show, but then Darsie's dresses were wont to take a secondary place, and to appear but as a background to her fresh young beauty, instead of—as is too often the case—a dress par excellence, with a girl tightly laced inside. When she made her appearance in the sitting- room of the lodgings, the verdict on her appearance was universally approving—

"You look a lamb!" gushed Ida enthusiastically.

"How do you manage it, dear? You always seem to hit the right thing!" exclaimed Mrs Percival in plaintive amaze; and as he helped her on with her cloak, Ralph murmured significantly—

"As if it mattered what you wore! No one will notice the frock."

At the ball there was an appalling plethora of girls; wallflowers sat waiting round the walls, and waited in vain. Darsie felt sorry for them, tragically sorry; but the sight of their fixed smiles could not but heighten the sense of her own good luck in having the chance of more partners than she could accept. Ralph showed at his best that evening, evincing as much care for his sisters' enjoyment as for that of their friend. Not until the three programmes were filled to the last extra did he rest from his efforts, and think of his own pleasure. It is true that his pleasure consisted chiefly in dancing with Darsie, and their steps went so well together that she was ready to give him the numbers for which he asked. As for Dan Vernon, he did not dance, but out of some mistaken sense of duty, felt it his duty to put in an appearance and glower.

"See old Vernon, glowering over there?" inquired Ralph, laughing, as he whirled Darsie lightly by to the strains of an inspiriting two-step, and for a moment a cloud shadowed the gaiety of her spirits. Dan ought either to dance or stay away! She didn't like to see him looking glum!

The dancing was carried on until four in the morning, when in the chill grey light the company were ranged in rows, and photographed, apparently to provide a demonstration of how elderly and plain even the youngest of the number could look under such inauspicious circumstances.

The three girls had breakfast in bed the next morning, somewhere about twelve o'clock—a delightful occasion when all three talked at the same time, relating thrilling experiences of the night before, comparing notes, admiring, quizzing, shaking with laughter over a dozen innocent drolleries. These after-conferences are perhaps the best part of the festivities of our youth; and Noreen, Ida, and Darsie began that fine June day as gaily, as happily, as unconscious of coming ill as any three girls in the land.

Ralph had been anxious that his people should again lunch in his rooms, but Mrs Percival had prudently decided in favour of a simple meal at home, and it was approaching tea-time when the party sallied forth to witness the day's "bumping" on the river. The elders were frankly tired after their late hours, but the three girls looked fresh as flowers in their dainty white frocks, and enjoyed to the full the kaleidoscopic beauty of the scene.

The two Percivals' interest in the bumping was of the slightest description—Ralph was not taking part this afternoon, and with Ralph began and ended their concern. They stood on the crowded bank, rather hot, rather bored, amusing themselves by scanning the people near at hand. The Vernon party were but a few yards away, and Hannah attracted special attention.

"She is plain!" exclaimed Noreen; whereat Darsie snapped her up in double-quick time.

"Of course she is plain! She wouldn't dream, of being anything else!"

Beloved plain Hannah! No features, however classic, could be as eloquent as hers in her old friend's eyes. Darsie tossed her head, and looked flusty and annoyed, whereat Noreen feebly apologised, emphasising her offence by blundering explanations, and Ralph grew restless and impatient.

"I say! This is getting slow. Come along, girls; let's take the ferry and cross to the other side. It's not half bad fun to see all the shows. It will be a change, anyhow, and you can come back when you're tired."

"I'll stay with mother," Noreen decided dutifully. Ida surveyed the crowd on the opposite bank with the dubious air of one who has lived all her life within her own gates. "I don't think I care to go into that crush."

"Oh, come along, Darsie. Thank goodness you're not so squeamish. Let's get out of this." Ralph pushed impatiently forward, and Mrs Percival turned to Darsie, with raised eyebrows, and said urgently—

"Do go, dear! Ralph will take care of you. We will wait for you here."

Darsie smiled assent, the thought passing lightly through her mind that Mrs Percival looked particularly sweet and gracious when she smiled. She never dreamt that that particular smile, that little glance of appeal, were to remain with her all heir life, to be her comfort in a bitter grief.

They passed the spot where Hannah and Dan were standing with their friends, and acting on a sudden impulse, Darsie turned her head, with a few laughing words of explanation: "We're going to look at the Punch and Judies!"

There was no definite response, but Hannah's exclamation had an envious tone which made Ralph quicken his footsteps. It was rare good luck to get Darsie to himself for an hour; he certainly did not wish to be saddled with plain Hannah as an unwelcome third.

The ferry-boat was on the point of starting, its flat surfaces crowded with pleasure-seekers. Ralph and Darsie had to run the last few yards in order to secure a bare space for standing. Ralph took the outside with the nonchalance of the true boating-man, who would almost as soon fall in the water as not. Darsie, standing close by his side, glanced from one to the other of her companions, her never-failing interest in people discovering a story in each new group.

They had reached the middle of the stream, when a movement of the deck upset her balance, and sent her swaying against Ralph's arm. She looked up with a laughing apology, and was startled by the sight of his face. So far was he from sharing her amusement, that never in the course of their acquaintance had she seen him so pale, so set. He seized the hand she had laid on his arm, and held it in a vice-like grip, as he bent to look at the deck. At that moment Darsie stumbled afresh, and felt the lapping of water against her thinly clad feet. She exclaimed loudly, but her voice was drowned in the chorus of cries, questions, and appeals which arose from every side.

How swiftly, with what incredible, paralysing speed a scene may change, and seeming security give way to panic fear! Darsie, turning her head to look at the crowd of faces which towered so strangely above her, met but one expression in every eye—breathless, agonising dread.

Looking back upon the scene in after-life, it seemed the nightmare of a moment; then the grip upon her arm tightened, she felt herself being pushed past Ralph towards the edge of the boat, heard his voice speaking to her in crisp, firm tones which she had heard in dreams, but never, never from his living lips.

"Darsie! She's turning turtle! There's no danger, darling, if you jump clear. The water's not deep. Some one will come. I'm going to throw you in. Strike out for your life!"

She was lifted like a doll in his strong arms; her wild eyes, searching his, met a cheery smile in response, she felt herself swayed to and fro, realised with a shudder the parting from the firm grasp—fell, splashed, felt the water close over her head.

When she rose to the surface the water near her seemed full of struggling forms; she caught a terrified glimpse of a perpendicular deck, of passengers falling like flies from their perch, and with the instinct of despair struck out in the opposite direction.

Like most Newnham girls, she was a fair swimmer—happy hours spent in the swimming-tent had ensured so much; but it was her first experience of fighting the water in all the crippling fineries of race-week attire. Her shoes, her skirts, the floating ends of sash and scarf all held her down; her soaking hat flopped over her eyes, her very gloves seemed to lessen the force of her stroke; but breathless and spent as she was, she could not pause while from behind arose that dread, continued cry. Ralph had told her to strike out, that there was no danger if only she kept clear.

"All right, Darsie—all right! Keep calm—keep calm! I'm coming! I've got you! Leave yourself to me."

It was Dan's voice speaking in her ear, clear and distinct in the midst of the clamour; she felt herself seized in scientific fashion—in the way at which she herself had played at rescuing her companions from imaginary death—and, relinquishing all effort, was towed numbly to the shore.

It seemed as if hundreds of people were waiting to rescue her; hundreds of arms stretched out in welcome; hundreds of eyes grew suddenly moist with tears. She was tired, and wet, and dazed, but she could stand on her own feet, had no need of helping arms. Dan took her hand in his and ran swiftly across the grass to the nearest tent, where already preparations were in train for the restoration of the unfortunates.

Darsie was the first of the crew to reach this shelter, and Mrs Percival and the girls awaited her tearfully on the threshold. She awoke to fuller consciousness at sight of their faces, smiled in reassurement, and murmured disjointed phrases.

"Quite all right—only wet! Ralph saved me! A second time! So calm and brave!"

"Yes, dear child; yes! Take off that wet hat!" replied Mrs Percival urgently, the girl's praise of her son adding to her tender solicitude, and she hovered around with tender touches, the while from around rose a ceaseless string of suggestions.

"Brandy! Hot tea!" "She ought to change at once!" "My house is just at hand—do come to my house!" "My motor is waiting outside! Let me drive you home!"

So on, and so on, innate kindliness of heart bubbling to the surface as it invariably does in moments of disaster. As each unfortunate entered the tent the same programme was enacted, the same kind offices volunteered. "My house is close at hand—do come to my house!"

"My motor is waiting—do let me drive you back!" Each victim of the immersion wore at first the same dazed, helpless expression, but the presence of their companions, the kindly voices speaking in their ear, the hot, reviving draughts soon brought about a change of mood, so that they began to smile, to exchange remarks, to congratulate themselves on escape. Darsie, with characteristic elasticity, was one of the first to regain composure, and the Percivals hung delightedly on her description of Ralph's composure and resource.

"I was terrified. It was a dreadful sensation to feel the deck sinking beneath your feet on one side, and to see it gradually rising above you on the other. And all the bewildered, terrified faces! Ralph never turned a hair. He told me that there was no danger so long as I kept clear of the boat; he lifted me up in his arms as if I had been a doll."

The colour mounted to Darsie's white cheeks as she spoke, and a thrill of emotion tingled her blood. The first time she hears herself addressed as "darling" in a man's deep voice is one that a girl cannot lightly forget. She turned her head over her shoulder so as to be able to see the entrance into the tent.

"Where is Ralph?"

"He will be here presently. None of the men have come in yet. Ralph will be so useful. He is as much at home in the water as on land. He will be busy helping the others."

Mrs Percival spoke with happy assurance; nevertheless, she left Darsie's side and edged her way through the crowd towards the open doorway, through which she ought now to be able to see her son's return. As she was within a few yards of the entrance it was suddenly blocked by a group of men—hatless, dripping, dishevelled, but in demeanour composed and cheery, as if what had happened had been quite an enjoyable experience.

The foremost of the group greeted their friends with smiles and waving of hands.

"Hullo! Hullo! Here we are! How are you feeling? All serene now? Every one comfortably on shore? Got any tea left?"

"Is my son with you? Have you seen my son—Ralph Percival?"

Mrs Percival spoke in a high, clear voice, at the sound of which a young undergrad. wheeled round quickly towards his companions.

"By Jove—yes! He was on board. I thought we were all here. Where's Percival?"

He dashed out of the tent, stood looking blankly around, turned a blanched face towards the tent.

Then from an inner corner of the tent another voice questioned sharply: "Mary! Where's Mary—Mary Everard? She was with us—standing quite near. Mary's not here!"

No one answered. There was a breathless silence, while each man and woman in that crowded tent was subtly, overpoweringly conscious of a new presence filling the atmosphere around—the presence of Fear! Heavy as a palpable presence it pressed upon them; it lapped them round; the fumes of it mounted to their brains.

Months before, Darsie had listened while a woman who had been near San Francisco at the time of the earthquake and fire endeavoured to describe what was in truth indescribable, how the very air itself was at that time charged with a poignancy of agony—an impalpable spiritual agony, apart from such physical cause as heat and fire, an agony which arose from the grief of thousands of tortured hearts.

She had listened—interested, curious, pleased to nestle in her easy- chair, and ponder over a novel thought; but at this terrible moment she had no need to ponder; realisation came sharp and sure. Tragedy was in the air; she inhaled it with every breath, tasted it, felt its heavy hand.

With one accord the occupants of the tent streamed across the lawns towards the waterside, where even now an informal inquiry was taking place. The officials in charge of the ferry-boat were defending themselves against their accusers. Overcrowded? The ferry-boat had been as crowded on two previous days, and all had gone well. It was impossible to account for the accident. Since no further harm than a few minutes' ducking had happened to the passengers, the greater loss was on their own side.

To these officials, protesting, excusing, arrived in a mass a body of white-faced men and women, demanding with one voice their lost—a young man, an undergraduate; tall, fair, in a white flannel suit; last seen standing on the side of the boat helping to lower the women into the water; a young girl, in a boating-dress of blue and white. They were not among the rescued. They had not been seen since the moment of the accident.

Where were they?

As Darsie stood, ghastly and shuddering, by the water brink, she was subconsciously aware of a strong arm in hers. Subconsciously also she was aware that the arm belonged to Dan Vernon, but she had no time for look or word; her whole being was strung to one agonising thought. Mr Percival supported his half-fainting wife; the two sisters clung together; the relations of Mary Everard paced wildly to and fro. On shore all was tumult and confusion, on the river sunbeams sparkled, the stream was quiet and undisturbed.

"Percival was like a fish: Percival could have kept afloat for hours."

A voice separated itself from the confused babel, and struck on Darsie's ear, but even as her heart leaped upward another voice spoke. "It is not a case of swimming. If he were not quick enough in getting away—if he were caught beneath—penned!"

The strong arm gripped her more firmly still, steadied her trembling. A fierce voice issued an order for "Silence! Silence!"

Margaret France came up with beautiful soft eyes and a beautiful soft voice. She spoke wise, tender words. You were to come away—it was better so. It would add to your friends' distress if you were ill. You were wet, cold. You were to be sensible and come home.

Darsie looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. She was thinking that she loved Margaret France, that she had taken a fancy to her the first evening at Newnham. How droll and witty she had been as an auctioneer! Of the purport of her present words she had no comprehension. She sighed and turned her face to the river.

"Leave her to me," said Dan's voice quietly. "I will take care of her."

————————————————————————————————————

They found them at sundown; the two young, fair bodies—the tall, pale lad, the slim, dark maid—two cold effigies of youth, and health, and joy. On Ralph's forehead was a deep red mark, the mark of the blow which had given him a prey to the waters; but Mary's brown locks floated round a sweet, untroubled face.

They bore them to the mortuary, and those who loved them sat and wept alone. Darsie spent the two following days with the stricken family, who found their one comfort in listening again and again to the story of Ralph's brave end. Weak and unstable in life, in death he had shown a gallant front, and more than one of the unfortunate crew came forward to testify to his courageous and selfless efforts on their behalf.

Mr Percival went about with a set face and shoulders bowed like those of an old man. The girls wept helplessly from morn till night; Mrs Percival lost in one night all lingering trace of youth; she kept up bravely before her husband and daughters, but alone with Darsie her anguish found vent.

"My son, my son! He was so good to me—so loving and kind. His faults were the faults of youth, and, oh, Darsie, my, faults also! We blamed him for faults which we had not tried to check. If he had lived and had been obliged to face life for himself he would have risen to it, as he rose to that last great chance. It takes a brave man to face death calmly. He was not weak or selfish then—my Ralph! No one dared call him weak. Thank God! We were with him to the end, we were happy together, and you were with him too. That is what he would have wished. He loved you, Darsie. If he had lived, he would have wished you for his wife."

"Yes!" sighed Darsie, and laid her head gently on the other's knee. In the silence which followed she was acutely aware of the unspoken question which filled the air, acutely distressed that she could not give the stricken mother the assurance for which she craved.

In Ralph's lifetime his friendship had brought Darsie as much pain as joy, and, though death had wiped away all but tender recollections, even in this hour of grief and shock she did not delude herself that she sorrowed for him with the deepest sorrow of all. The anxious, pitiful affection which she had felt for the man who leaned so heavily upon her was more that of a sister than a wife.

Darsie stretched out her hand, found the chilly one of the poor mother, and leaning her soft cheek over it, pressed it tenderly with her lips.

"You must let me be your third daughter! We can talk about him together. I can tell you about this last year—every little tiny thing that he said and did. You'll never be anxious about him any more, dear, never afraid! You will always be proud of your hero boy."

Mrs Percival sighed. She was in too sensitive a mood not to realise the meaning of the girl's lack of response, but the first pang of disappointment was followed by a thought full of comfort to the sore mother-heart.

"I loved him best. He was mine to the end! No one loved him like his mother!"



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

BRIGHTER DAYS.

Six months passed by—months of grief and pain, and bitter, unavailing regret; of work and play, of long summer days, and wintry fog and cold; of reviving happiness also, since, thank God! joy returns like the spring, bringing back hope and joy to a darkened world. There was a place in Darsie's heart which would ever be consecrated to the memory of Ralph; but it was not a foremost place—that most crushing of sorrows had been spared her; and when one not yet twenty-one is living the healthiest and most congenial of lives, and is above all elevated to the proud position of third-year girl, it would be as unnatural as wrong to dwell continually upon a past grief.

At first Darsie felt shocked and ashamed when the old gay mood swept her off her balance, and she found herself dancing, singing, and making merry as of yore, but her two mentors, Mrs Reeves and Hannah Vernon, united to combat this impression.

"To bear a sorrow cheerfully is the only resignation worthy of the name!" This was the older woman's verdict; the younger preached the same precept in student vernacular—

"Why grizzle when you want to smile? Pray, what good can you do yourself, or any one else, by going about with a face like a fiddle? Remember Margaret France, and don't block up the window to shut out the stars! Let them twinkle for all they are worth, the blessed little things. They are tired of hiding behind the clouds. You have a duty to the living as well as to the dead; remember that!"

Yes, it was true. Looking back over the last eight months Darsie realised what a debt of gratitude she owed to relations and friends alike for their tenderness and forbearance. It had been hard on the home party to have the summer holidays clouded by the presence of a mourner who shuddered at the sight of water, collapsed into tears at unexpected moments, and lived in a condition of super-sensitiveness, ready as it seemed to be hurt by the most innocent word; yet how gentle and patient they had been, every single one of them, down to Tim himself! Mother and father, of course, had been angels; one took it for granted that they would be, but who could have believed in such consideration from the boys and girls. Dear old Clemence! What a comfort she had been! Darsie had often been inclined to think that, for sheer rest and soothing, no one could compete with a plump, practical, matter-of-fact sister, who had no thought for "ifs" or "whys," but was full of care to ensure your present physical well-being. Then, if for a moment Clemence seemed to fall short, there was Lavender, ready to pour out floods of sympathy, to mingle her tears with yours, and listen to endless reminiscences. As for the boys, Harry and Russell forbore to tease, affected blindness to reddened eyes, and said, "Buck up, old girl!" with real heartiness of feeling, while Tim was assiduous in the offer of sticky sweets.

The Vernons, lucky creatures! went off en masse to Switzerland for July and August. Darsie morbidly told herself that they were anxious to avoid the depression of her own presence during the chief holiday of the year. She was, as she expressed it, "too proud to say so," but the inward soreness made her so cold and abrupt in manner that her friends had good cause to reverse the accusation.

With regard to Dan Vernon in especial there was a soreness at Darsie's heart. During the first days after the tragic happening Dan had been a tower of strength, always at hand to comfort, support, and take every difficulty upon his own shoulders. To outward appearance Darsie had appeared oblivious of his presence, but subconsciously she had leaned on his strength with a profound relief. It was hard to have Dan withdraw into his shell just as she was beginning to long for his presence; but he had withdrawn, and like most naturally shy and reticent people, withdrawn farther than ever, as if in reaction from his unusual demonstration.

In hall itself the absence of Margaret France made a big blank. Having passed her tripos with a first class, Margaret had placidly returned home to help her mother in the house, and take part in an ordinary social life. "What a waste!" cried her Newnham acquaintances, but Margaret's friends, remembering her own words on the subject, believed that she had chosen the better part.

With October came the return to Newnham, and for the first few weeks an access of grief and depression. It was hard to fall into the old life shorn of its greatest interest, to be reminded of Ralph at every turn, to see his friends pass by, laughing and gay, while his place was blank.

Then it was that Darsie discovered the real tenderness of heart which lies beneath the somewhat callous exterior of the college girl. Freshers, second-year girls, even austere thirds themselves, combined to surround her with an atmosphere of kindness and consideration. No word of sympathy was ever spoken, but almost every hour of the day brought with it some fresh deed of comfort and cheer. Offerings of flowers, tendered by a friend, or laid anonymously on "burry" or coffin; bags of fruit and cake, invitations galore, surprise visits to her own study, each in turn bringing a gleam of brightness to the day. Plain Hannah, too, dear old plain Hannah! In the midst of her grief Darsie was filled with amusement at Hannah's unique fashion of showing her sympathy. Hot water evidently commended itself to her mind as the ideal medium, for at a dozen hours of the day and night the door of Darsie's study would open and Hannah would appear on the threshold, steaming can in hand. Early morning, eleven o'clock, before lunch, before tea, before dinner, before cocoa, before bed, Hannah and her can never failed to appear. For the first half of the Michaelmas term Darsie might literally have been described as never out of hot water.

And now it was the Lent term; eight months had passed by since the date of Ralph's death, and it surely behoved Darsie to rise above her depression, and to throw herself once more into the full, happy life of the house. She was thankful to do it, thankful to welcome dawnings of the old zest, to feel her feet involuntarily quicken to a dance, to discover herself singing as she moved to and fro. The winter had passed; spring was in the air. It seemed right that it should be in her heart also.

As usual in the Lent term, hockey was the one absorbing subject outside "shop," and Hannah Vernon, now advanced to the lofty position of captain, had special reasons for welcoming her friend's reviving spirits.

One chilly day in February she entered Darsie's study with a somewhat unusual request.

"The girls are getting restive, and think that it's quite time we had another fancy match. They want me to arrange one on the spot. It's so blighting to be told that one is so clever, and looked to for inspiration. Every idea forsakes one on the instant. You've been hibernating for an age, you ought to have lots stored up!"

"I haven't—I've grown hideously dull. What did we have last?"

"Thicks against Thins! Never shall I forget it! To play forward padded with three separate cushions, and with shawls wound round your limbs, is the sort of thing one rises to once in a lifetime, but never twice. I made an adorable fat woman! The Thins had no spirit left in them when they beheld my bulk. I vote that we don't have anything that involves padding this time. One never knows one's luck."

"No-o! I think we might hit on something more subtle," Darsie ruminated, with her eyes on the ceiling. Her reputation of being the Newnham belle remained unchallenged after two separate incursions of Freshers.

As she sat before a "burry," clad in a blue, pinafore-like garment, from which emerged white silk sleeves to match the collar and yoke, her hand absently turning over a pile of notebooks, bound in green and blue and rose, she made a striking contrast to Hannah Vernon in a cinnamon coat and skirt, built for wear by a cheap tailor on the principle of "there or thereabouts." Even the notebooks reflected the personality of their owners, for the one which Hannah carried was of the shiny black persuasion which seemed to proclaim that, being made for good solid work, it disdained the affectation of beauty. Plain Hannah's little eyes twinkled affectionately at her old friend. She detached a pencil from a chain which dangled by her side, and said tentatively—

"Subtle—yes! Good biz! Let's have a Subtler by all means."

"I—was thinking—we might have something touching upon future possibilities. I've not quite got it yet, but something about brides and spinsters. Future brides—budding brides—beautiful brides."

"Easy enough to have adjectives for the brides. Where do the spinsters come in?"

"Oh, one would have to infer—subtly, of course—that they would be spinsters! That would be adjective enough. Embryo spinsters— preparatory spinsters—p-p-probable spinsters. I have it! I have it! 'Possible Brides against Probable Spinsters!'"

"Ha!" ejaculated Hannah, and drew her forefinger slowly down her nose. "Good! Top hole. Amusin', but—injudicious? Shouldn't mind one rap myself; lead off the Probables with a cheer. But, I fear me, there'd be brickbats floating in the air. How much would you take in coin of the realm to go up to Vera Ruskin and invite her to play for the spinsters? Personally I'd rather be excused."

"I'd volunteer as a start! Love to do it!"

"Ye-es! Just so. Noble of you, no doubt; but unconvincing," returned Hannah dryly. "No! It's a fine suggestion in theory, but in practice I'm afraid it won't work. I don't want to imperil my popularity for good. Think of something a trifle less searching! Er—er—Slackers against—against what? Slackers against Swotters! How would that do for a change?"

Darsie curled her little nose.

"Dull! No scope. How would you dress?"

"Oh-h! The Swotters might have bandages round their heads, and study notebooks between play. The Slackers would just—could just—"

"Just so! 'Could just'! Too feeble, my dear! It won't do. What about worth and charm? Might make up something out of that. Worth, solid worth, genuine worth—"

"Moral worth!"

"That's it! Moral Worth against Charm, personal charm! That'll do it. That'll do it! Moral Worth against Personal Charm. Nobody can be offended at being asked to represent Moral Worth."

"They will, though! The female heart is desperately wicked," returned Hannah shrewdly. "But if they do it's their own look-out. We'll preserve a high and lofty tone, and be surprised! Thanks awfully, old girl. It's an adorable idea. What price the Moral Worth costume—eh, what?"

The Hockey captain went off chuckling, and excitement ran high in the hockey world when the thrilling announcement was posted that afternoon. "For which side shall I be asked to play?" Forwards, Backs, and Goals alike agitated themselves over these questions, and, sad to relate, Hannah proved a true prophet, for while an invitation from the 'Personal Charm' captain aroused smiles of delight, the implication of 'Moral Worth' was but coldly received.

Darsie Garnett herself was conscious of an electric shock of the most unpleasant nature when, but half an hour after the posting of the notice, the "Moral Worths" invited her to join their ranks! With all the determination in the world, she found it impossible to repress a start of surprise, and was acutely conscious of smothered giggles of amusement from those around. She accepted, of course, with protestations of delight, and ten minutes later found balm in the shape of an invitation from the rival team. The "Personal Charms" deplored Darsie's loss, but considered it a masterpiece of diplomacy on the part of the "Moral Worth" captain to have headed her team with the name of the Newnham Belle. "No one could be snarkey after that!"

The two teams held committee meetings on the subject of costumes, which were kept a dead secret until the hour for the match had arrived, when a large body of spectators awaited their arrival on the ground, with expectations pleasantly excited. The "Personal Charms" appeared first, marching in pairs with heads erect, and stamped on each face that brilliant, unalterable, toothy smile affected by actresses of inferior rank. Each head was frizzed and tousled to about twice its natural size, and crowned by an enormous topknot of blue ribbon. White blouses and skirts, blue belts, ties, and hose completed an attractive costume, and as a finishing touch, the handle of the hockey-stick was embellished with a second huge blue bow.

From a spectacular point of view the "Personal Charms" were certainly an unusually attractive spectacle, but as regards popularity with the "field," they fell far behind the rival team. The "Moral Worths" allowed a judicious time to elapse after the appearance of the "Personal Charms," and then, just as the spectators were beginning to wax impatient, excitement was aroused by the appearance of a white banner, borne proudly aloft in the arms of two brawny Forwards. Printed on the banner were two lines of poetry, which at nearer view proved to be a highly appropriate adaptation—

"Be good, sweet maid, And let who will be charming!"

Certainly the "Moral Worths" had been at pains to disguise any charm they possessed! Even Darsie herself looked plain with her hair dragged back into a tight little knot, her grey flannel shirt padded into the similitude of stooping shoulders, her skirt turned carefully back to front. With lumping gait and heavy footsteps the team marched round the field, and drew up beside the beaming "Personal Charms," who despite the blasts of easterly wind through summer muslin blouses, continued to smile, and smile, and smile.

Throughout the heated game which followed the "Moral Worths" were distinctly the favourite team; nevertheless, it is the deplorable truth that the "Personal Charms" won at a canter, despite the handicap of their beribboned sticks.

When, tired and muddy, Darsie reached her study again, it was to find a postcard from Lavender which a kindly Fresher had laid upon her "burry." It bore but a few words written in large characters, and plentifully underlined—

"Which team were you asked to play for?"

What a glow of satisfaction it gave one to be able to reply, truthfully and accurately, with one short, illuminating—"Both!"

Among the other joys of the last terms, one shone out pre-eminent in Darsie Garnett's estimation. She was Prime Minister! It seemed almost too splendid to be true! She, who three years before had made her first appearance at Political as the bashful representative of Bootle-cum- Linacre, to have advanced to this dizzy height of power! To be captain of the Hockey Club paled into insignificance before this crowning honour, but as Hannah was "Speaker," Darsie was unable to crow as loudly as she would have done if her friend's place had been below the gangway.

Political was held in College Hall on Monday evenings at eight o'clock, and in old-fashioned style the members were divided into three parties, Conservatives, Liberals, and Unionists, whose seats were so arranged as to form three sides of a square.

Viewed from afar there was a strong element of humour about this mock Parliament. Prophetic it might be, but it was distinctly droll to hear Honourable Members addressed as "Madam," while some of the statutes embodied in the Constitution-book were quite deliciously unexpected, the special one, which ran, "Members occupying the front benches are requested not to darn stockings during Political" being a constant source of delight to parents and friends.

Darsie was a Liberal. Members of the Opposition accused her openly of Socialism. What! shall we sacrifice our brother man for the sake of the demon gold? she would declaim with waving hands and cheeks aflame, whereat the Liberals would cheer as one girl, and even the Conservatives themselves be moved to admiration.

Debates relating to Education, Suffrage, and the House of Lords were held during the winter months, but the crowning excitement followed a daring Bill introduced by the Liberal party for the abolishment of the Unionists in toto, on the ground that, being neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring, they acted but as a drag on the wheels of progress. The benches were crowded to their fullest capacity on the occasion of this historic debate; even the Dons themselves came in to listen, and the whips flew round the corridors, giving no quarter to the few skulkers discovered at work in their studies, until they also were forced into the breach. As a result, the Unionist party, supported by Moderates on both sides, achieved a brilliant and decisive victory.

So much for Political, but the Prime Minister occupied another proud position, for Margaret France's prophecy had been fulfilled, and Darsie was now captain of the Clough Fire Brigade. Beneath her were two lieutenants, and two companies, each seven girls strong, and the duty of choosing times of the utmost inconvenience and unpreparedness for drill alarms rested entirely at her discretion. When the fire-bell rang, every member of the brigade must leave whatever she happened to be about, and dash pell-mell to the assembling-ground on an upper story. There the force ranked up in order, the captain explained the locality and nature of the supposed conflagration, and each "man" received "his" own instruction—one to shut windows and ventilators, and so diminish draughts, another to uncoil the hose, a third to affix the nozzle, and so on. The work was accomplished, examined by the authorities, and the "men" were back on the top landing, ranked up in their original order, in an incredibly short space of time, when the captain gave a sharp criticism of the performance, followed by a few questions to test the general knowledge of the staff: Where was Mary Murray's study? What was its aspect? What was the nearest water supply? Etcetera.

One excuse for non-attendance, and one only, was allowed to pass muster—a member who chanced to be in a hot bath what time the bell rang forth the alarm might lie at ease and smile at the scurry without, health and the risk of chill being considered before imaginary dangers. If, however, the bath were cold, out she must get, dash into the coat and skirt which, for members of the fire brigade, supplanted the ordinary dressing-gown, and take her place with the rest.

Nor—with Darsie Garnett as captain—was it any use to attempt deception, as a tired little Fresher discovered to her cost, when she naughtily turned a warm stream into her cold bath and refused to budge. No sooner were lightning-like instructions rapped out upstairs than down flew the irate captain, rapped at the door, demanded admission, and—in the absence of steam upon the wall—sentenced the cringing truant to a month's suspension of privileges.

Nor was Darsie's own position free from anxiety, for once in a term it was the prerogative of the brigade to surprise the captain, and woe befall her prestige if, on that occasion, she were found wanting! Coat, skirt, and slippers lay nightly on a chair by her bedside, together with the inevitable pile of notebooks, and she felt a burden off her mind when the alarm had come and gone.

Deep, deep down in the recesses of Darsie's mind there slumbered a fell ambition. If there could be a real fire before her term of office expired! Not a serious one, of course—nothing to imperil the safety of the dear old house, but just sufficient to cause a real alarm, and give the brigade an opportunity of demonstrating its powers! It was almost too aggravating to be borne, to hear one morning that a second- year girl had indulged in a study fire, and had extinguished it of her own accord. Extinguished by private effort, when a captain, two lieutenants, and fourteen "men" were languishing for an opportunity to exhibit their powers! The captain spoke sternly to the second-year girl, and rebuked her.

"How," she demanded, "can you expect a reliable force, if precious opportunities are to be wasted like this? Curtains ablaze, and the bedclothes singeing. We may wait for years for another such opportunity!"

"But where do I come in?" cried the second-year girl. "I gave ten and sixpence for that quilt. And a jug of water standing close at hand! It was only human nature—"

"I hope," returned the captain of the Fire Brigade icily—"I hope that is not the spirit in which you propose to go through life. It's a poor thing if you cannot sacrifice a ten-and-sixpenny quilt in the interest of the public good." And she stalked majestically from the room.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

TRIPOS WEEK.

The Tripos week! Every third-year girl felt as if life and death trembled in the balance during those eventful days. They woke on the Monday morning with much the same feeling as that of a patient who expects to have an arm amputated at eleven, and is morally convinced that she will sink beneath the strain, and when at seven o'clock a second-year friend crept into the study, tray in hand, and administered sympathising cups of tea, the final touch was given to the illusion.

Darsie quailed before the prospect of those three-hour papers. Experience had proved that she was not at her best in examinations; imaginative people rarely are, since at the critical moment the brain is apt to wander off on dire excursions into the future, envisaging the horrors of failing, instead of buckling to work in order to ensure success. Historical French Grammar in especial loomed like a pall, and she entered the Mission Room at Saint Columba's with the operation-like feeling developed to its acutest point.

For several minutes after taking the first paper in her hand Darsie found it impossible to decipher the words. The type danced mistily before her eyes; and when at last letters shaped themselves out of the confusion, the last state was worse than the first, for she was convinced—drearily, hopelessly convinced—that she could not answer a single question out of the number.

She laid down the paper, and steadied herself resolutely. All over the room other girls were sitting on hard, uncomfortable chairs before tables like her own, some motionless and stunned-looking like herself, some already setting briskly to work. On the walls, among a number of quotations, "Help one another!" stared her in the face with tragic significance, and again: "How far high failure overleaps the bounds of low successes." Failure! She lifted the paper again, and decided with a glimmer of hope that she could answer at least one question, set to work, and scribbled for life until the last moment of the prescribed three hours! What exhaustion! What collapse! Positively one's legs wobbled beneath one as one trailed wearily Newnhamwards. What a comfort to be fussed over and petted, treated as distinguished invalids whom the College was privileged to tend!

The Tripos girls "sat at High" at the head of the room, surrounded by attentive Dons, with the V.C. herself smiling encouragement, and urging them to second helpings of chicken (chicken!!). By the time that it was necessary to start forth for the afternoon's ordeal they felt mentally and physically braced, and the operation feeling lessened sensibly.

At the afternoon's ordeal, however, the weariness and depression grew more acute than ever, and on the walk home the comparing of answers had anything but a cheering effect. No girl was satisfied; each was morally convinced that her companions had done better than herself. Where she had failed to answer a question, a reminder of the solution filled her with despair. Of course! It was as simple as ABC. She had known it off by heart. Nothing short of softening of the brain could explain such idiotic forgetfulness.

It was a kindly custom which separated the sufferers on their return to College, each one being carried off by her special second-year adorer to a cheery little tea-party, for which the most congenial spirits and the most delectable fare were provided. Here the tired senior was soothed and fed, and her self-esteem revived by an attitude of reverence on the part of the audience. The second-year girls shuddered over the papers; were convinced that never, no never, could they face the like, and suggested that it would be a saving of time to go down at once.

Later on that first evening, when Marian White appeared to put her invalid to bed, she bore in her hand a letter from Margaret France, which Darsie hailed with a cry of joy.

"Ah! I thought she would write to me. I wondered that I didn't have a letter this morning, but she was right as usual. She knew I should need it more to-night!"

Margaret's letter was short and to the point—

"Dearest Darsie,—A year ago you were cheering me! How I wish I could do the same for you in your need, but as I can't be present in the flesh, here comes a little line to greet you, old dear, and to tell you to be of good cheer. You are very tired, and very discouraged, and very blue. I know! Every one is. It's part of the game. Do you remember what a stern mentor I had, and how she bullied me, and packed me to bed, and took away my books? Oh, the good old times! The good old times, how happy we were—how I think of them now, and long to be back! But the best part remains, for I have still my friend, and you and I, Darsie, 'belong' for our lives.

"Cheer up, old dear! You've done a lot better than you think!

"Margaret."

"What's the matter now?" asked the second-year girl sharply, spying two big tears course slowly down her patient's cheeks, and Darsie returned a stammering reply—

"I've had such a ch-ch-cheering letter!"

"Have you indeed! The less of that sort of cheering you get this week, the better for you!" snapped Marian once more. She was jealous of Margaret France, as she was jealous of every girl in the College for whom Darsie Garnett showed a preference, and she strongly resented any interference with her own prerogative. "Hurry into your dressing-gown, please, and I'll brush your hair," she said now in her most dictatorial tones. "I'm a pro. at brushing hair—a hair-dresser taught me how to do it. You hold the brush at the side to begin with, and work gradually round to the flat. I let a Fresher brush mine one right when I'd a headache, and she began in the middle of my cheek. There's been a coldness between us ever since. There! isn't that good? Gets right into the roots, doesn't it, and tingles them up! Nothing so soothing as a smooth, hard brush."

Darsie shut her eyes and purred like a sleek, lazy little cat.

"De-lic-ious! Lovely! You do brush well! I could sit here for hours."

"You won't get a chance. Ten minutes at most, and then off you go, and not a peep at another book till to-morrow morning."

"Marian—really—I must! Just for ten minutes, to revive my memory."

"I'll tell you a story!" said Marian quietly—"a true story from my own experience. It was when I was at school and going in for the Cambridge Senior, the last week, when we were having the exams. We had slaved all the term, and were at the last gasp. The head girl was one Annie Macdiarmid, a marvel of a creature, the most all-round scholar I've ever met. She was invariably first in everything, and I usually came in a bad third. Well, we'd had an arithmetic exam, one day, pretty stiff, but not more so than usual, and on this particular morning at eleven o'clock we were waiting to hear the result. The Mathematic Master was a lamb—so keen, and humorous, and just—a rageur at times, but that was only to be expected. He came into the room, papers in hand, his mouth screwed up, and his eyebrows nearly hidden under his hair. We knew at a glance that something awful had happened. He cleared his throat several times, and began to read aloud the arithmetic results. 'Total, a hundred. Bessie Smith, eighty-seven.' There was a rustle of surprise. Not Annie Macdiarmid? Just Bessie—an ordinary sort of creature, who wasn't going in for the Local at all. 'Mary Ross, eighty-two. Stella Bruce, seventy-four.' Where did I come in? I'd never been lower than that. 'Kate Stevenson, sixty-four.' Some one else fifty, some one else forty, and thirty and twenty, and still not a mention of Annie Macdiarmid or of me. You should have seen her face! I shall never forget it. Green! and she laced her fingers in and out, and chewed, and chewed. I was too stunned to feel. The world seemed to have come to an end. Down it came—sixteen, fourteen, ten— and then at last—at bitter, long last—'Miss Marian White, six! Miss Macdiar-mid, Two!'"

Darsie stared beneath the brush, drawing a long breath of dismay.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing! That was where he showed himself so wise. An ordinary master would have raged and stormed, insisted upon our working for extra hours, going over and over the old ground, but he knew better. He just banged all the books together, tucked them under his arm, and called out: 'No more work! Put on your hats and run off home as fast as you can go, and tell your mothers from me to take you to the Waxworks, or a Wild Beast show. Don't dare to show yourselves in school again until Monday morning. Read as many stories as you please, but open a school book at your peril!'"

Marian paused dramatically, Darsie peered at her through a mist of hair, and queried weakly, "Well?"

"Well—so we didn't! We just slacked and lazed, and amused ourselves till the Monday morning, and then, like giants refreshed, we went down to the fray and—"

"And what?"

"I've told you before! I got second-class honours, and the Macdiarmid came out first in all England, distinction in a dozen subjects— arithmetic among them. So now, Miss Garnett, kindly take the moral to heart, and let me hear no more nonsense about 'reviving memories.' Your memory needs putting to sleep, so that it may wake up refreshed and active after a good night's rest."

And Darsie weakly, reluctantly obeyed.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

FAREWELL TO NEWNHAM.

May week followed hard on the Tripos that year, but Darsie took no part in the festivities. The remembrance of the tragic event of last summer made her shrink from witnessing the same scenes, and in her physically exhausted condition she was thankful to stay quietly in college. Moreover, a sad task lay before her in the packing up her belongings, preparatory to bidding adieu to the beloved little room which had been the scene of so many joys and sorrows during the last three years.

Vie Vernon, as a publicly engaged young lady, was paying a round of visits to her fiance's relations, but Mr and Mrs Vernon had come up as usual, arranging to keep on their rooms, so that they might have the satisfaction of being in Cambridge when the Tripos List came out. With a son like Dan and a daughter like Hannah, satisfaction was a foregone conclusion; calm, level-headed creatures both of them, who were not to be flurried or excited by the knowledge of a critical moment, but most sanely and sensibly collected their full panoply of wits to turn them to good account.

Hannah considered it in the last degree futile to dread an exam. "What else," she would demand in forceful manner—"what else are you working for? For what other reason are you here?" But her arguments, though unanswerable, continued to be entirely unconvincing to Darsie and other nervously constituted students.

The same difference of temperament showed itself in the manner of waiting for results. Dan and Hannah, so to speak, wiped their pens after the writing of the last word of the last paper, and there and then resigned themselves to their fate. They had done their best; nothing more was possible in the way of addition or alteration—for good or ill the die was cast. Then why worry? Wait quietly, and take what came along!

Blessed faculty of common sense! A man who is born with such a temperament escapes half the strain of life, though it is to be doubted whether he can rise to the same height of joy as his more imaginative neighbour, who lies awake shivering at the thought of possible ills, and can no more "wait quietly" for a momentous decision than he could breathe with comfort in a burning house.

When the morning arrived on which the results of the Tripos were to be posted on the door of the Senate House, Darsie and Hannah had taken a last sad farewell of their beloved Newnham, and were ensconced with Mr and Mrs Vernon in their comfortable rooms. The lists were expected to appear early in the morning, and the confident parents had arranged a picnic "celebration" party for the afternoon.

Darsie never forgot that morning—the walk to the Senate House with Dan and Hannah on either side, the sight of the waiting crowd, the strained efforts at conversation, the dragging hours.

At long last a list appeared—the men's list only: for the women's a further wait would be necessary. But one glance at the paper showed Dan's name proudly ensconced where every one had expected it would be, and in a minute he was surrounded by an eager throng—congratulating, cheering, shaking him by the hand. He looked quiet as ever, but his eyes shone, and when Darsie held out her hand he gripped it with a violence which almost brought the tears to her eyes.

The crowd cleared away slowly, the women students retiring to refresh themselves with luncheon before beginning a second wait. The Vernons repaired to their rooms and feasted on the contents of the hamper prepared for the picnic, the father and mother abeam with pride and satisfaction, Dan obviously filled with content, and dear old Hannah full of quips. Darsie felt ashamed of herself because she alone failed to throw off anxiety; but her knees would tremble, her throat would parch, and her eyes would turn back restlessly to study the clock.

"Better to die by sudden shock, Than perish piecemeal on the rock!"

The old couplet which as a child she had been used to quote darted back into her mind with a torturing pang. How much longer of this agony could she stand? Anything, anything would be better than this dragging on in suspense, hour after hour. But when once again the little party approached the Senate House, she experienced a swift change of front. No, no, this was not suspense; it was hope! Hope was blessed and kindly. Only certainty was to be dreaded, the grim, unalterable fact.

The little crowd of girls pressed forward to read the lists. Darsie peered with the rest, but saw nothing but a mist and blur. Then a voice spoke loudly by her side; Hannah's voice:

"First Class! Hurrah!"

Whom did she mean? Darsie's heart soared upward with a dizzy hope, her eyes cleared and flashed over the list of names. Hannah Vernon—Mary Bates—Eva Murray—many names, but not her own.

The mist and the blur hid the list once more, she felt an arm grip her elbow, and Dan's voice cried cheerily—

"A Second Class! Good for you, Darsie! I thought you were going to fail."

It was a relief. Not a triumph; not the proud, glad moment of which she had dreamed, but a relief from a great dread. The girls congratulated her, wrung her hand, cried, "Well done!" and wished her luck; third- class girls looked envious and subdued; first-class girls in other "shops" whispered in her ear that it was an acknowledged fact that Modern Languages had had an uncommonly stiff time this year. Modern Languages who had themselves gained a first class, kept discreetly out of the way. Hannah said, "See, I was right! Are you satisfied now?" No one showed any sign of disappointment. Perhaps no one but herself had believed in the possibility of a first class.

The last band of students turned away from the gates with a strange reluctance. It was the last, the very last incident of the dear old life—the happiest years of life which they had ever known, the years which from this moment would exist but as a memory. Even the most successful felt a pang mingling with their joy, as they turned their backs on the gates and walked quietly away.

Later that afternoon Dan and Darsie found themselves strolling across the meadows towards Grantchester. They were alone, for, the picnic having fallen through, Mr and Mrs Vernon had elected to rest after the day's excitement, and Hannah had settled herself down to the writing of endless letters to relations and friends, bearing the good news of the double honours.

Darsie's few notes had been quickly accomplished, and had been more apologetic than jubilant in tone, but she honestly tried to put her own feelings in the background, and enter into Dan's happiness as he confided to her his plans for the future.

"I'm thankful I've come through all right—it means so much. I'm a lucky fellow, Darsie. I've got a rattling opening, at the finest of the public schools, the school I'd have chosen above all others. Jenson got a mastership there two years ago—my old coach, you remember! He was always good to me, thought more of me than I deserved, and he spoke of me to the Head. There's a vacancy for a junior master next term. They wrote to me about it. It was left open till the lists came out, but now I now it will go through. I'm safe for it now."

"Oh, Dan, I'm so glad; I'm so glad for you! You've worked so hard that you deserve your reward. A mastership, and time to write—that's your ambition still? You are still thinking of your book?"

"Ah, my book!" Dan's dark eyes lightened, his rugged face shone. It was easy to see how deeply that book of the future had entered into his life's plans. He discussed it eagerly as they strolled across the fields, pointing out the respects in which it differed from other treatises of the kind; and Darsie listened, and sympathised, appreciated to the extent of her abilities, and hated herself because, the more absorbed and eager Dan grew, the more lonely and dejected became her own mood. Then they talked of Hannah and her future. With so good a record she would have little difficulty in obtaining her ambition in a post as mathematical mistress at a girls' school. It would be hard on Mrs Vernon to lose the society of both her daughters, but she was wise enough to realise that Hannah's metier was not for a domestic life, and unselfish enough to wish her girls to choose the most congenial roles.

"And my mother will still have three at home, three big, incompetent girls!" sighed Darsie in reply, and her heart swelled with a sudden spasm of rebellion. "Oh, Dan, after all my dreams! I'm so bitterly disappointed. Poor little second-class me!"

"Don't, Darsie!" cried Dan sharply. He stood still, facing her in the narrow path, but now the glow had gone from his face; it was twisted with lines of pain and anxiety. "Darsie! it's the day of my life, but it's all going to fall to pieces if you are sad! You've done your best, and you've done well, and if you are a bit disappointed that you've failed for a first yourself, can't you—can't you take any comfort out of mine? It's more than half your own. I'd never have got there by myself!"

"Dan, dear, you're talking nonsense! What nonsense you talk! What have I done? What could I do for a giant like you?"

Dan brushed aside the word with a wave of the hand.

"Do you remember when we were talking last year, beside the fire, in the old study one afternoon, when all the others were out, talking about poor Percival, and your answer to a question I asked? 'He needs me, Dan!' you said. I argued very loftily about the necessity of a man standing alone and facing his difficulties by himself, and you said that was true, but only a part of the truth. I've found that out for myself since then. If that was true of Percival, it is fifty times truer of me! I need you, Darsie! I shall always need you. I've not a penny- piece in the world, except what my father allows me. I shall probably always be poor. For years to come I shall be grinding away as a junior master. Even when the book is written it can never bring much return in a monetary sense, but success will come in the end, I'll make it come! And when it does, it will belong to you as much as to me. You'll remember that?"

"Yes... Thank you, Dan!" The answer came in a breathless gasp. Darsie's big eyes were fixed upon Dan's face in rapt, incredulous gaze. The cramp of loneliness had loosened from her heart; the depression had vanished; a marvellous new interest had entered into her life; she was filled with a beatific content.

"I'll remember! I'll be proud to remember. But—I don't understand!"

"I don't understand myself," said Dan simply. "I only know it is true. So don't get low, Darsie, and don't be discouraged. You're in a class by yourself, and all the honours in the world couldn't improve you. And now that's over, and we start afresh!"

It was like Dan to hurry back with all speed to more practical talk. Darsie understood, and was satisfied. They stood together for another moment looking back on the massed towers and spires of Cambridge, then slowly, reluctantly, turned away.

A new life lay ahead, its outline vague and undefined like that of the landscape around, but the sun was shining. It shone full on their young faces, as they went forward, hand in hand.

THE END.