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the lilacs. He took a deep breath and walked steadily toward the
picture.

The frame receded behind him and the gravel crunched beneath
his feet while a cool evening breeze ruffled his hair. His unneeded
topcoat lay where he had left it by the frame, and he could feel the
fresh country air through his shirt. Tall poplars whispered at his
passing, and the swiftly running stream was the flauntist in the sym-
phony of his thoughts as he returned to Lisa.

For she was waiting for him in the cottage. She was preparing
supper for him on a little oil stove, and she was singing contentedly
as she worked. The dying sun cast scarlet rays on the roof of the little
frame cottage that he had repaired with his own hands so that the
secret of its being there beside the little back-country road might not
be known. He watched the sun turn the red shingled roof to flame
and quickened his steps. In a few minutes he would be with Lisa
again and they would continue their life together the way they had
dreamed and planned it would be.

The red afterglow of the sunset was lasting much longer than
usual. Like a welcome home, Dirk thought, mentally cataloging the
image for future reference. But this was almost unnatural in its
beauty. It seemed to want him to take special notice.

Then I he saw the smoke. Dirk gasped for breath as his throat
constricted in fear. No-not again. He wouldn't lose her again. This

time he had to save her.
He broke into a run, a long desperate stride that kicked up the

gravel behind him. The evening coolness became a shivering void
out of which he struggled to reach her. The redness of the roof spread
now to taint the walls and turn them scarlet. Black smoke rolled in
douds from the tiny dwelling. The breeze that had made the leaves
murmur a few moments before, now screamed at him to hurry as the
road stretched interminably long before him.

Now he could hear her screams. He was at the cottage door be-
fore he realized that he, too, was screaming a torn, pleading cry, shout-
ing her name. The door yawned open before him just as the roof
collapsed with a sickening shudder. The burning rafters and shingles
hissed at him, taunting, and he was aware that the only voice he heard

was his own.
He reeled back from the burning heap of emptiness, unable to

face again what he knew lay before him. The fire crackled but stirred
no warmth inside him. It was as cold as the dark pavement in front

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