The mollified minister finished his meal without further comment.

* * * * * The sleigh-ride was a thing of the past. That it had brought disaster to Teola Graves showed in the tired eyes as they rested on the sky, gray with the coming morning. She had stolen silently into the house, reaching her chamber without disturbing either father or mother. At the window she halted. Here and there a star sparkled, dying dim in the advancing sky. Teola's eyes rested upon the street below for several minutes, then dragged her gaze upward and beyond--beyond to the long road that led to the yard of the dead which stretched over the hillside, rearing its monuments among the leafless trees, like sentinels over sleeping soldiers. There was something alluring, something compelling to the pale girl, watching the birth of her first real day of living. The University frowned down upon the graveyard; in its turn the graveyard frowned menacingly upon the town. A snow-bird peeped a "good-morning" to its mate in the Rectory eaves. A bell pealed out twice, striking the air with its sonorous sound reverberating into the hills. And still the girl stood waiting for--she knew not what.

Yesterday girlhood offered Teola Graves happy hours of peaceful meditation--to-day, the new day brought the woman its ceaseless silent agony of regret and remorse, strong forces of which she had known nothing.

If Dan were only glad that she loved him, if he loved her in return. Suddenly tears welled into the dark eyes; Teola Graves hid her face from the new world of painful joy--and forgot in sleep.