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“Four years passed, and at last the boy had won. In a month he would pass from the prairie to university life. He had no home, few friends–who spoke; those who did not were safely packed at the bottom of his trunk. His going from the little town would excite no more comment than had his coming. He was all ready, and for the first time in his life set apart a month–the last–as a vacation. He felt positively gay. He had fought a hard fight–and had won. He saw the dawning of a great light–saw the future as a battle-ground where he would fight; not as he was then, but fully equipped for the struggle…. But no matter what air-castles he built; they were such as young men will build to the end of time.”

The speaker’s voice lowered–stopped. He looked straight out over the prairie, his eyes glistening.

“If so far the boy’s life had been an inferno, he was to be repaid. The girl–she of the brown eyes–was home once more, and they met again as members of a camping party.” He half-turned in his seat to look at her, but she sat with face averted, so quiet, so motionless, that he wondered if she heard.

“Are you listening?” he asked.

“Listening!” Her voice carried conviction, so the lad continued.

“For a fortnight he lived a dream–and that dream was Paradise. He forgot the past, ignored the future, and lived solely for the moment–with the joy of Nature’s own child. It was the pure love of the idealist and the dreamer–it was divine.

“Then came the reaction. One day he awoke–saw things as they were–saw again the satire of Fate. At the very time he left for college, she returned–a graduate. She was young, beautiful, accomplished. He was a mere farmhand, without money or education, homeless, obscure. The thought was maddening, and one day he suddenly disappeared from camp. He didn’t say good-bye to any one; he felt he had no apology that he could offer. But he had to go, for he felt the necessity for work, longed for it, as a drunkard longs for liquor.”

“Oh!” The exclamation came from the lips of the girl beside him. “I–we–all wondered why–.”

“Well, that was why.

“He fell in with a threshing-crew, and asked to work for his board. They thought him queer, but accepted his offer. For two days he stayed with them, doing the work of two men. It seemed as if he couldn’t do enough–he couldn’t become tired. He wanted to think it all out, and he couldn’t with the fever in his blood.

“At night he couldn’t sleep–Nature was pitiless. He would walk the road for miles until morning.

“With the third day came relief. All at once he felt fearfully tired, and fell asleep where he stood. Several of the crew carried him to a darkened room, and there he slept as a dumb animal sleeps. When he awoke, he was himself again; his mind was clear and cool. He looked the future squarely in the face, now, and clearly, as if a finger pointed, he saw the path that was marked for him. He must go his way–and she must go hers. Perhaps, after four years or more–but the future was God’s.”

The boy paused. The lights of the town were nearing, now; but he still looked out over the moon-kissed prairie.

“The rest you know. The dreamer returned. The party scarcely knew him, for he seemed years older. There were but a few days more of camp life, and he spent most of the time with the girl. Like a malefactor out on bail, he was painting a picture for the future. He thought he had conquered himself–but he hadn’t. It was the same old struggle. Was not love more than ambition or wealth? Had he not earned the right to speak? But something held him back. If justice to himself, was it justice to the girl? Conscience said ‘No.’ It was hard–no one knows how hard–but he said nothing.”

Once more he turned to his companion, in his voice the tenderness of a life-long passion.

“This is the story: did the boy do right?” A life’s work–greater than a life itself, hung on the answer to that question.

The girl understood it all. She had always known that she liked him; but now–now–As he had told his story, she had felt, first, pity, and then something else; something incomparably sweeter; something that made her heart beat wildly, that seemed almost to choke her with its ecstasy.

He loved her–had loved her all these years! He belonged to her–and his future lay in her hands.

His future! The thought fell upon her new-found happiness with the suddenness of a blow. She could keep him, but had she the right to do so? She saw in him something that he did not suspect–and that something was genius. She knew he had the ability to make for himself a name that would stand among the great names of the earth.

Then, did his life really belong to her? Did it not rather belong to himself and to the world?

She experienced a struggle, fierce as he himself had fought. And the boy sat silent, tense, waiting for her answer.

Yes, she must give him up; she would be brave. She started to speak, but the words would not come. Suddenly she buried her face in her hands, while the glistening brown head trembled with her sobs.

It was the last drop to the cup overflowing. A second, and then, his arms were around her. The touch was electrifying–it was oblivion–it was heaven–it was–but only a young lover knows what.

“You have answered,” said the boy. “God forgive me–but I can’t go away now.”

Thus Fate sported with two lives.