to Europe. He was glad of that. For there
were hours in which he imagined that his
fate might have caused her distress -- not
much, of course, but perhaps an occasional
hour of sympathetic regret. But it was
pleasanter not to think of that. He pre-
ferred to remember the hours they had
spent together while she was teaching him
the joy of life.

How lovely her gray eyes were! Deep,
yet bright, and full of silent little speeches.
The rooms in which he imagined her as
moving were always splendid; the gowns
she wore were of rustling silk. He never in
any dream, waking or sleeping, associated
her with poverty or sorrow or pain. Gay
and beautiful, she moved from city to city,
in these visions of David's, looking always
at wonderful things, and finding laughter in
every happening.

It was six months after his entrance into
his silent abode that a letter came for him.

"By rights, Culross," said the warden, "I
should not give this letter to you. It isn't
the sort we approve of. But you're in for
a good spell, and if there is anything that
can make life seem more tolerable, I don't