"You could not look me in the face so steadily were it true.

Your eyes would seek the floor, not mine." "Yet it is true." "Three little white feathers," she said slowly; and then, with a sob in her throat, "This afternoon we were under the elms down by the Lennon River--do you remember, Harry ?--just you and I.And then come three little white feathers, and the world's at an end." "Oh, don't!" cried Harry, and his voice broke upon the word.

Up till now he had spoken with a steadiness matching the steadiness of his eyes.

But these last words of hers, the picture which they evoked in his memories, the pathetic simplicity of her utterance, caught him by the heart.

But Ethne seemed not to hear the appeal.