ANOTHER HOUR "But it seems as though I had always known you," said Franklin, turning again toward the tall figure at the window.

There was no reply to this, neither was there wavering in the attitude of the head whose glossy back was turned to him at that moment.
"It was like some forgotten strain of music!" he blundered on, feeling how hopeless, how distinctly absurd was all his speech.

"I surely must always have known you, somewhere!" His voice took on a plaintive assertiveness which in another he would have derided and have recognised as an admission of defeat.
Mary Ellen still gazed out of the window.

In her mind there was a scene strangely different from this which she beheld.

She recalled the green forests and the yellow farms of Louisburg, the droning bees, the broken flowers and all the details of that sodden, stricken field.
With a shudder there came over her a swift resentment at meeting here, near at hand, one who had had a share in that scene of desolation.
Franklin felt keenly enough that he was at disadvantage, but no man may know what there is in the heart of a girl.