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Rh Longing caught at her heart—desire for the one reality, even though a wounding one, in this world of shadow.

When she met Crayven next day she was sweetly gentle to him. She seemed to want to show her liking for him, to forget the untoward incident at Anthemoz; and Crayven, at first a little bewildered by her kindness, ended by accepting it sadly. They went out as usual after tea into the forest. Teresa had never seen Crayven so intensely melancholy, so almost childish in his depression. He was unreasonable and petulant as a child whom one tries to console for the deprivation of sweets to-day by the promise of a walk to-morrow. All his strength and grip of himself were in abeyance. He complained, and Teresa tried to coax him. She offered to write to him when he went away, which must be, she knew, within a few days.

"Oh, letters," he said ungraciously. "What are they, when I can't see you?"

"Oh, you will like them," she said. "Surely you don't want me to disappear altogether."

"You will disappear. What does a mere friendly liking count, after all? You'll forget all about me in three months. I shall be only an incident. I wish it had never happened. I wish I'd never seen you. I've been shaken up and bothered for nothing—just as I was settling com-