innocently wonderful to herself in the feeling that bound Sydney
to her first friend, was a mystery no more. Love lifted its veil,
Nature revealed its secrets, in the one supreme moment of that
kiss. She threw her arms around his neck with a low cry of
delight--and returned his kiss.

"Sydney," he whispered, "I love you."

She heard him in rapturous silence. Her kiss had answered for
her.

At that crisis in their lives, they were saved by an accident; a
poor little common accident that happens every day. The spring in
the bracelet that Sydney wore gave way as she held him to her;
the bright trinket fell on the grass at her feet. The man never
noticed it. The woman saw her pretty ornament as it dropped from
her arm--saw, and remembered Mrs. Linley's gift.

Cold and pale--with horror of herself confessed in the action,
simple as it was--she drew back from him in dead silence.

He was astounded. In tones that trembled with agitation, he said
to her: "Are you ill?"

"Shameless and wicked," she answered. "Not ill." She pointed to
the bracelet on the grass. "Take it up; I am not fit to touch it.
Look on the inner side."

He remembered the inscription: "To Sydney Westerfield, with
Catherine Linley's love." His head sank on his breast; he