Under the Big Dipper

pocket and was gazing raptly at the face in the moonlight that shone fully where he was sitting. Should he speak to her in the morning—the last day before they parted? No—he could not take the advantage her helplessness gave him. He must wait until she was free to think and decide—free of the sense of obligation which she might now feel.

Replacing the photograph he rose from the bench, and looking at his watch found that it was still three hours before the dawn. He let himself in the house and tried the chimney seat. But he was restless—he was too far from where the girls were sleeping. It would be better if he lay down in the room adjoining theirs. He found the place empty of any couch or bed, but spreading his rug on the floor he used his coat as a pillow and was soon at peace in what the Easterns call “the outer court of the Seven Heavens”—the deep sleep of tired limbs and a clear conscience.

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