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 trees to her right, far away through the crystal evening air, rose a great, round, full moon.

“‘It has the true ring,’” murmured Emily, tasting the incredible words anew. “They want to see more of my work! Oh, if only Father could see my verses in print!”

Years before, in the old house at Maywood, her Father, bending over her as she slept had said, “She will love deeply—suffer terribly—she will have glorious moments to compensate.”

This was one of her glorious moments. She felt a wonderful lightness of spirit—a soul-stirring joy in mere existence. The creative faculty, dormant through the wretched month just passed, suddenly burned in her soul again like a purifying flame. It swept away all morbid, poisonous, rankling things. All at once Emily that Ilse had never done. She laughed joyously—amusedly.

“What a little fool I’ve been! Oh, a little fool! Of course, Ilse never did it. There’s nothing between us now—it’s gone—gone—gone. I'll go right to her and tell her so.”

Emily hurried back adown her little path. The Land of Uprightness lay all about her, mysterious in the moonlight, wrapped in the exquisite reticence of winter woods. She seemed one with its beauty and charm and mystery. With a sudden sigh of the Wind Woman through the shadowy aisles came “the flash” and Emily went dancing to Ilse with the afterglow of it in her soul.

She found Ilse alone—threw her arms around her—hugged her fiercely.

“Ilse, do forgive me,” she cried. “I shouldn’t have doubted you—I doubt you—but now I know—I. You forgive me?”

“You young goat,” said Ilse.

Emily loved to be called a young goat. This was the old Ilse—her Ilse.

“Oh, Ilse, I’ve been so unhappy.”

“Well, don’t bawl over it,” me Ilse. “I haven’t been