"Oh, Sue! Sue!" The girl clung to her. "Don't think too badly of me.

It came out last night--when Alan and I were talking. I told him I didn't love Wallace the way I should--oh, Sue, _you_ know I never have--and that it was because I loved someone else. And, oh, he grew so--so white--he was so hurt--and I told him--I had to. It just poured out of my soul, Sue. It had been kept in so long."

"You darling girl!" They clung to each other, murmuring.

"Now you know why I was so--so broken up yesterday," explained Farvel.

"It wasn't--Laura. It was Hattie."

"Oh, we've cared for each other from the first!" confessed Hattie.

"And we've settled how it is all going to be. I'll stay in New York, where we can be near each other, and see each other now and then--oh, we shall be only friends, Sue. But I'd rather have his friendship than the love of any other man I've ever known. And we'll be patient. And if we can't ever be more than friends, we'll be glad just for that.

See how happy you've been, Sue, with no one--all these years. And here I shall have Alan."

"Ah, my dear girl!" exclaimed Sue. She stroked the bright hair. "Ah, my dear girl!"

"Oh, Sue, you mean you haven't been happy? Why don't you marry?"

Sue laughed. "_I_? What an idea! Why, I don't think I've ever even had the thought. Anyhow, the years have gone--the inclination is gone, if it ever was there. I'm too old." Then with sudden and pa.s.sionate earnestness, "But you two." She rose and took each by a hand, and led them to the dial. "Read! Read what is written in the stone!--_Tempus Fugit_--time flies! Oh, take your happiness while you can! Don't wait. Oh, don't!--We must find a way somehow. The Church--we must see the proper authorities--oh, it isn't right that you two should be punished----"

"Momsey!" Peter, the pale, was calling from the drawing-room door.

"There's a gentleman----"

A man appeared behind the boy, and pushed past into the Close--a young man, unshaven and haggard, with bloodshot eyes.

"Is there something I can do for you?" asked Farvel, quickly. He hastened toward the visitor, who looked as if he had suddenly gone mad.

"Hull is my name," announced the man; "--Felix Hull."

"Oh, yes," said Sue, eagerly. She signed to Hattie to go, and the girl hastened away through the door under the wedding-bell.

"You have news?" questioned Farvel.

Hull crossed the lawn to the dial. He walked slowly, like an old man.

And his shoulders were bent. His derby hat was off, and he clutched it in two shaking hands.

"Tell us," bade Sue. "It's--bad news?"

"Yes."

"Take your time," she added kindly.

"Yesterday--just before you saw her--I was there. She was--well, you know. She begged me to go--and keep away from the house. That made me suspicious. I told her I wouldn't come back. Well, I didn't. Because I never left. I knew she wasn't telling me the truth--I beg your pardon, sir.--So I hung around. I saw you all go in. After a little, I saw her come out--on the run. I followed. She went about twenty blocks----"

"Where?"

"You're Miss Milo, aren't you?"

"Susan Milo."

"She spoke of you--oh, so--so loving. Well, it was a girl's club--called the Gramercy. I knew it well because we'd met there many a time. I went in. There was a new maid on hand, but I saw Clare.

She came right away, like as if she was more than glad to have a talk.

I didn't expect that, so I'd brought along a canary--to make her think it was hers--the one she'd left behind, you see,--so she couldn't just refuse to see me. Well, we talked. There wasn't any quarreling. She wasn't a bit broke up--that surprised me. And it threw me clean off my guard. She was highty-tighty, as you might say, and I'll admit it hurt. We shook hands though, when I went, but she didn't ask me to stay to tea." He turned to Farvel. "One thing she said about the child she wanted you to know."

"What?"

"It's not your daughter, sir."

"Ah."

"And I hear from the St. Clair woman that the little one isn't as old as Clare said. So----"

"I understand."

"Well, this morning, when I woke up--I didn't sleep much to speak of last night--I got to thinking about--her. And I made up my mind that I'd go look her up, and--and be a friend to her anyhow." His voice broke. "I was fond of her, Miss Milo."

"She was gone?"

He nodded. "She'd been gone since the night before. Went out, the maid said, with no hat on and a letter in her hand--for the post. And she hadn't come back. I tell you, that worried me. I was half-crazy."

He tried to control his voice, to keep back the tears.

"Then it's very bad news," ventured Farvel. He laid a hand on the other man's sleeve.

"I went over to the St. Clair house," Hull went on. "Clare hadn't been there. Then--I knew. So I went to the one place--that was likely----"

"You mean----" asked Farvel. "Oh, not that! Not that!"

"She was there. She'd spoken about the river. That's why I was sure."

"The river!" gasped Sue. "Oh, what are you saying?"

"She'd done as she said," answered Hull, quietly.

Sue sank to a bench. "Oh, that cry of hers, yesterday!" she reminded, breaking down. "Do you remember, Mr. Farvel? When she saw you--'It's all over! It's all over!' Oh, why did I let her out of my sight!"

"It's my fault," declared Hull, hoa.r.s.ely. "I was too hard on her. Too hard." He turned away.

Farvel went to him and held out his hand. Hull took it, and they stood in silence for a long moment. Then Hull drew back. There was a queer, distorted smile on his face. "This comes of a man's thinking he's smart," he declared. "I wanted to show her I was on--instead of letting her explain it all to me. But I've always been like that--too smart--too smart." He turned and went out, walking unsteadily.

It was Sue who broke the news to Hattie. And when the latter had left to rejoin her mother at the hotel (for it was agreed that it would be better if Farvel and the girl did not see each other again until later). Sue came back into the Close--to wait for Barbara.

She waited beside the dial. There was nothing girl-like in her posture. Her shoulders were as bent as Hull's had been. The high color was gone from her face. And the gray eyes showed no look of youth. She felt forsaken, and old, and there was an ache in her throat.

"Well, the poor trapped soul is gone," she said presently, out loud to herself. She looked down at the dial. "Time is not for her any more.

But rest--and peace."

What changes had come while just these last twenty-four hours were flying! while the shadow on that dial had made its single turn!

"And here you are, Susan, high and dry." She had wept for another; she laughed at herself. "Here you are, as Ikey says, 'All fixed up, und by your lonesomes.' But never mind any lamentations, Susan." For her breast was heaving in spite of herself. "Your hands are free--don't forget that? And you can do l-l-l-lots of helpful things--for your pocket is lined. And there must be something ahead for you, Susan!

There must be s-s-s-something!"