form, played on and on. And then--the ring melted away, the lights grew
dim, and Priscilla stood still.

"I'm--I'm tired," faltered she. A hand was laid upon her arm, some one
guided her out of the heated, breathless room; they were alone, she and
he, under wide-spreading trees, and a particularly lovely star was
pulsing overhead.

"You are crying!" Travers's voice was low and tense. "Why?"

"It--it was the music! It was like something I had heard, and--and I was
so tired. I was very foolish. Can you, can Margaret, forgive me?"

"Forgive you? Why, you were--I dare not tell you what you were! Here, sit
down. Do not tremble so! Tell me, where did you learn to dance as you
do?"

Priscilla had dropped upon the rough rustic seat; she did not seem to
notice the hand that rested upon her clasped ones under the thin scarf.
She no longer cried, but the tears shone on her long lashes.

"I--I never learned. It--it is I, myself. I thought I had grown into
something else, but--I shall always be the same--when I let myself go."

"Let yourself go? Good heavens! Why not let yourself go--forever?"
Travers's voice shook. "You have brought joy and youth to us all--to me,
who never had youth. What--who are you?" he laughed boyishly. She sat
rigidly erect and turned her sad eyes upon him.

"I'm Priscilla Glynn--a nurse! And you? Oh! you are Doctor Travers! Can