agitation in her face.

"Ah!" he cried, rising too, "I don't want you to
think I don't understand, or that I meant _I_ should
ever ask you to stay here! I couldn't mean that;
you know I couldn't, don't you? You know I
understand that it's all just your beautiful friendliness,
don't you?"

"It isn't beautiful; it's just ME, Joe," she said.
"It couldn't be any other way."

"It's enough that you should be here now," he
went on, bravely, his voice steady, though his hand
shook. "Nothing so wonderful as your staying
could ever actually happen. It's just a light
coming into a dark room and out again. One day,
long ago--I never forgot it--some apple-blossoms
blew by me as I passed an orchard; and it's
like that, too. But, oh, my dear, when you go
you'll leave a fragrance in my heart that will
last!"

She turned toward him, her face suffused with
a rosy light. "You'd rather have died than have
said that to me once," she cried. "I'm glad you're
weak enough now to confess it!"

He sank down again into his chair and his arms
fell heavily on the desk. "Confess it!" he cried,