While the band played, ushers with canes wrapped with red, white, and blue ribbons had carried him up notes of congratulation, and among them was a card from Marjorie and a bouquet from her own garden.  John Burnham’s eyes sought his with pride and affection.  The old president, handing him his diploma, said words that covered him with happy confusion and brought a cheer from his fellow-students.  When he descended from the platform, Gray grasped his hand, and Marjorie with lips and eyes gave him ingenuous congratulations, as though the things that were between them had never been.

An hour later he drove with John Burnham through soldiers in the streets and past the Gatling-gun out into the country, and was deposited at the mouth of the lane.  For the last time he went to the little cottage that had been his mother’s home and walked slowly around garden and barn, taking farewell of everything except memories that he could never lose.  Across the fields he went once more to Colonel Pendleton’s, and there he found Gray radiant, for his father was better, and the doctor, who was just leaving, said that he might yet get well.  And there was little danger now from the night riders, for the county judge had arranged a system of signals by bonfires through all the country around the town.  He had watchers on top of the court-house, soldiers always ready, and motor-cars waiting below to take them to any place of disturbance if a bonfire blazed.  So Gray said it was not good-by for them for long, for when his father was well enough he was coming back to the hills.  Again the old colonel wished Jason well and patted him on the arm affectionately when they shook hands, and then Jason started for the twin house on the hill across the turnpike to tell Marjorie and her mother good-by.

An hour later Gray found Marjorie seated on a grape-vine bench under honeysuckles in her mother’s old-fashioned garden, among flowers and bees.  Jason had just told her good-by.  For the last time he had felt the clasp of her hand, had seen the tears in her eyes, and now he was going for the last time through the fragrant fields—­his face set finally for the hills.

“Father is better, the county judge has waked up, and there is no more danger from the night riders, and so I am going back to the mountains now myself.”

“Jason has just gone.”

“I know.”

“Back to Mavis?”

“I don’t know.”

Marjorie smiled with faint mischief and grew serious.

“I wonder if you have had the same experience, Gray, that I’ve had with Mavis and Jason.  There was never a time that I did not feel in both a mysterious something that always baffled me—­a barrier that I couldn’t pass, and knew I never could pass.  I’ve felt it with Mavis, even when we were together in my own room late at night, talking our hearts to each other.”

“I know—­I’ve felt the same thing in Jason always.”

“What is it?”