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 silent? What would I have done had I met her. What a fool I was to go near that school. What a fool I am any way! How can I love or let myself love when I have my way to make. To confess that I was within hearing of her voice would be to lose me whatever chance I might have. She would consider me a cad and rightly. No, I could never do that. She would have nothing to do with me then. No, the only thing I can do is to trust to chance. I love her, though. Love her with all the being in me.

"I wonder if she would understand? I doubt it. She seems a timid thing; and yet no, she is not timid. What shall I do? I don't know. Yet they say, 'faint heart ne'er won fair lady.'—I guess I'll let circumstances guide me. No, that's shirking. Ah, I have it. I shall pass her window again each night and some night when she's awake I'll begin to talk as if to myself and tell her who I am and that I love her. Perhaps she'll understand then and if she really meant what she said tonight I'll know then I can act. If she really loves me, boy, oh boy, the world is mine!"

That weighty question settled to the satisfaction of youth Bennet was soon abed and asleep. He awoke several hours later refreshed and with a song in his heart. Youth always sings in the morning hours. It seems appropriate. Youth is morning and morning the youth of the day—so youth, song and morning go hand in hand. With Bennet's first waking hour came the picture of the scene witnessed the evening previous. The memory filled him with happy dreams again and as he pictured the form at