e gayety.

"And does he never come to town?"

"How should I know?"

Kate took this seriously and her head sank lower over her work:
"Ah," she thought to herself, "she will not confide in me any
longer. She keeps her secrets from me--me who shared them all my
life."

"What is it you are making?"

Isabel stretched out her hand, but Kate with a cry threw her breast
downward upon her work. With laughter they struggled over it; Kate
released it and Isabel rising held it up before her. Then she
allowed it to drop to the floor.

"Isabel!" exclaimed Kate, her face grown cold and hard. She
stooped with dignity and picked up the garment.

"Oh, forgive me," implored Isabel, throwing her arms around her
neck. "I did not know what I was doing!" and she buried her face
on the young wife's shoulder. "I was thinking of myself: I cannot
tell you why!"

Kate released herself gently. Her face remained grave. She had
felt the first wound of motherhood: it could not be healed at once.
The friends could not look at each other. Isabel began to draw on
her gloves and Kate did not seek to keep her longer.

"I must go. Dear friend, have you forgiven me? I cannot tell you
what was in my heart. Some day you will understand. Try to
forgive till you do understand."

Kate's mouth trembled: "Isabel, why are you so changed toward me?"

"Ah, I have not changed toward you! I shall never change toward
you!"

"Are you too happy to care for me any longer?"

"Ah, Kate, I am not too happy for anything. Some day you will
understand."

She leaned far out and waved her hand as she drove away, and then
she threw herself back into the carriage. "Dear injured friend!
Brave loyal woman'" she cried, "the men we loved have ruined both
our lives; and we who never had a secret from each other meet and
part as hypocrites to shield them. Drive home," she said to the
driver. "If any one motions to stop, pay no attention. Drive
fast."

Mrs. Osborn watched the carriage out of sight and then walked
slowly back to her work. She folded the soft white fabric over the
cushions and then laid her cheek against it and gave it its first
christening--the christening of tears.

IX

The court-house clock in the centre of the town clanged the hour of
ten--hammered it out lavishly and cheerily as a lusty blacksmith
strikes with prodigal arm his customary anvil. Another clock in a
dignified church tower also struck ten, but with far grea