was only a visible symbol of her new divine content. If she had
looked closely, which she dared not do, she would have seen that
the lurking sadness in the man's face had leaped to the surface,
touching the brown eyes with a look of eternal grief.

"I ventured to stop," he said presently, "because I was not sure
that happy chance would throw us together again. I have come to
say good-by."

"You are going away?"

"I am going away," he answered slowly.

"So shall I, some day," said Daphne, "and then moss will grow
green on my seat by the fountain, and San Pietro will be sold to
some peddler who will beat him. Of course it had to end!
Sometimes, when you tread the blue heights of Olympus, will you
think of me walking on the hard pavements of New York?"

"I shall think of you, yes," he said, failing to catch her
merriment.

"And lf you ever want a message from me," she continued, "you
must look for it on your sacred laurel here on the hill by
Hermes' grave. It ls just possible, you know, that I shall be
inside, and if I am, I shall speak to you through my leaves, when
you wander that way."

Something in the man's face warned her, and her voice became
grave.