There was no pause in the outpouring of the melody. She changed stops and manuals with swift fingers and passed from one composition to another; now it was an august hymn, now a theme from Wagner, and finally Mendelssohn’s Spring Song leaped forth exultant in the dark chapel.

She ceased suddenly with a little sigh and struck her hands together, for the place was cold. As she reached up to put out the lights I stepped forward to the chancel steps.

“Please allow me to do that for you?”

She turned toward me, gathering a cape about her.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” she asked, looking about quickly. “I don’t remember—I don’t seem to remember that you were invited.”

“I didn’t know I was coming myself,” I remarked truthfully, lifting my hand to the lamp.

“That is my opinion of you,—that you’re a rather unexpected person. But thank you, very much.”

She showed no disposition to prolong the interview, but hurried toward the door, and reached the vestibule before I came up with her.

“You can’t go any further, Mr. Glenarm,” she said, and waited as though to make sure I understood. Straight before us through the wood and beyond the school-buildings the sunset faded sullenly. The night was following fast upon the gray twilight and already the bolder planets were aflame in the sky. The path led straight ahead beneath the black boughs.

“I might perhaps walk to the dormitory, or whatever you call it,” I said.

“Thank you, no! I’m late and haven’t time to bother with you. It’s against the rules, you know, for us to receive visitors.”

She stepped out into the path.

“But I’m not a caller. I’m just a neighbor. And I owe you several calls, anyhow.”

She laughed, but did not pause, and I followed a pace behind her.

“I hope you don’t think for a minute that I chased a rabbit on your side of the fence just to meet you; do you, Mr. Glenarm?”

“Be it far from me! I’m glad I came, though, for I liked your music immensely. I’m in earnest; I think it quite wonderful, Miss Armstrong.”

She paid no heed to me.

“And I hope I may promise myself the pleasure of hearing you often.”

“You are positively flattering, Mr. Glenarm; but as I’m going away—”

I felt my heart sink at the thought of her going away. She was the only amusing person I had met at Glenarm, and the idea of losing her gave a darker note to the bleak landscape.

“That’s really too bad! And just when we were getting acquainted! And I was coming to church every Sunday to hear you play and to pray for snow, so you’d come over often to chase rabbits!”

This, I thought, softened her heart. At any rate her tone changed.