She gathered stones to place upon the makeshift grave. " "That is to say, you wish you had let me die?" "That was the thought. She is a stranger to you. " "Rather behind me;" and he spoke no more that morning. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. "How long shall I be here?" he asked. "Not so;" answered Wild. “Well——” She stopped short. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume.
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