“What is the matter?” she cried.

The young man answered her hoarsely:  “Can you not see what is the matter, Helen?  I love you!  And you drive me mad!”

The girl turned very pale, and lowered her eyes before his burning gaze.

“Helen,” the other went on impetuously, “you will break my heart if you treat me in this way.  Do you not know that for three long years I have been dreaming of you, and of the promise that you gave me?  You told me that you loved me, and that you always would love me!  You told me that the night before you went away; and you kissed me.  All this time I have been thinking of that kiss, and cherishing the memory of it, and waiting for you to return.  I have labored for no other reason, I have had no other hope in the world; I have kept your image before me, and lived in it, and worshiped before it, and the thought of you has been all that I had.  When I was tired and worn and ill I could only think of you and remember your promise, and count the days before your return.  And, oh, it has been so long that I could not stand it!  For weeks I have been so impatient, and so filled with the thought of the day when I might see you again that I have been helpless and half mad; for I thought that I should take your hand in mine and claim your promise.  And this morning I wandered about the woods for hours, waiting for you to come.  And see how you have treated me!”

He buried his face in his hands again, and Helen stood gazing at him, breathing very fast with alarm, and unable to find a word to say.

“Helen,” he groaned, without looking up again, “do you not know that you are beautiful?  Have you no heart?  You fling your soul bare before me, and you fill me with this fearful passion; you will drive me mad!”

“But, Arthur,” she protested, “I could not think of you so; I thought of you as my brother, and I meant to make you happy.”

“Tell me, then,” he gasped, staring at her, “tell me once for all.  You do not love me, Helen?”

The girl answered with a frank gaze that was cruel, “No, Arthur.”

“And you can never love me?  You take back the promise that you made me?”

“I told you that I was only a child, Arthur; it has been a long time since I have thought of it.”

The young man choked back a sob.  “Oh, Helen, if you only knew what cruel words those are,” he groaned.  “I cannot bear them.”

He gazed at her with his burning eyes, so that the girl lowered hers again.  “Tell me!” he exclaimed.  “What am I to do?”

“Can we not remain friends, just as we used to be?” she asked pleadingly.  “Can we not talk together and help each other as before?  Oh, Arthur, I thought you would come here to live all summer, and how I should like it!  Why can you not?  Can you not let me play for you without—­without—­” and Helen stopped, and flushed a trifle; “I do not know quite what to make of you to-day,” she added.