keen eyes watched her closely. "The river," she said at last,--I like to
watch it. There was a time when I loved the woods, but now I see that they
are ugly. Now, when I can steal away, I come to the river always. I watch
it and watch it, and think.... All that you give it is taken so surely,
and hurried away, and buried out of sight forever. A little while ago I
pulled a spray of farewell summer, and went down there where the bank
shelves and gave it to the river. It was gone in a moment for all that the
stream seems so stealthy and slow."

"The stream comes from afar," said the Highlander. "In the west, beneath
the sun, it may be a torrent flashing through the mountains."

"The mountains!" cried Audrey. "Ah, they are uglier than the woods,--black
and terrible! Once I loved them, too, but that was long ago." She put her
chin upon her hand, and again studied the river. "Long ago," she said,
beneath her breath.

There was a silence; then, "Mr. Haward is at Fair View again," announced
the storekeeper.

The girl's face twitched.

"He has been nigh to death," went on her informant. "There were days when
I looked for no morrow for him; one night when I held above his lips a
mirror, and hardly thought to see the breath-stain."

Audrey laughed. "He can fool even Death, can he not?" The laugh was light
and mocking, a tinkling, elvish sound which the Highlander frowned to
hear. A book, worn and dog-eared, lay near her on the grass. He took it up
and turned the leaves; then put it by, and glanced uneasily at the