The whispering of the pines called over and over to him, "Constance! Constance!" Once more he turned, and retraced his steps, the trees still whispering.

At the edge of the opening he paused unseen.

He saw the girl, with one hand each on the arm of her father and of Barkley, laughing gayly and walking across the gallery.

Each had offered her an arm to assist her in arising, and her act was, in fact, the most natural one in the world.

Yet to Dan Anderson, remote, morose, solitary, his soul out of all perspective, this sight seemed the very end of all the world..