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Rh toward the harbor, part returning to the beach. At the edge of the slope toward the cove, Peter, alone in the field, stood looking toward the mainland. Helen walked slowly down toward him.

Archer pattered indoors barefoot, and at the desk in the dark corner of the library began a letter.


 * "Powell's Island, Wednesday.

"To Captain Berry, Barkentine Elizabeth Fanning. "My dear Sir:

"An accident involving the death of two persons"—

Her father's commonplace book lay open before him. As he cast about for the right words, his eye lighted on a recent addition in the scholar's neat manuscript:—

"Schopenhauer: Metaphysics of Love.—This ablest of modern thinkers has said very wisely: 'And yet, amid all this turmoil we see a pair of lovers exchanging longing glances,—but why so secretly, timidly, and furtively? Because these lovers are traitors secretly striving to perpetuate all this misery and