It's a little too late for me.
Lynde, you must not let this venomous letter come between us. I love
you, dear--I've loved you ever since I met you and I want you for my
wife."

Alan had not intended to say that just then, but the words came to his
lips in spite of himself. She looked so sad and appealing and weary
that he wanted to have the right to comfort and protect her.

She turned her eyes full upon him with no hint of maidenly shyness or
shrinking in them. Instead, they were full of a blank, incredulous
horror that swallowed up every other feeling. There was no mistaking
their expression and it struck an icy chill to Alan's heart. He had
certainly not expected a too ready response on her part--he knew that
even if she cared for him he might find it a matter of time to win her
avowal of it--but he certainly had not expected to see such evident
abject dismay as her blanched face betrayed. She put up her hand as if
warding a blow.

"Don't--don't," she gasped. "You must not say that--you must never say
it. Oh, I never dreamed of this. If I had thought it possible you
could--love me, I would never have been friends with you. Oh, I've
made a terrible mistake."

She wrung her hands piteously together, looking like a soul in
torment. Alan could not bear to see her pain.

"Don't feel such distress," he implored. "I suppose I've spoken too
abruptly--but I'll be so patient, dear, if you'll only try to care for
me a little. Can't you, dear?"

"I can't marry you," said Lynde desperately. She leaned against a slim
white bole of a young birch behind her and looked at him wretchedly.
"Won't you please go away and forget me?"

"I can't forget you," Alan said, smiling a little in spite of his
suffering. "You are the only woman I can ever love--and I can't give
you up unless I have to. Won't you be frank with me, dear? Do you
honestly think you can never learn to love me?"

"It is not that," said Lynde in a hard, unnatural voice. "I am married
already."

Alan stared at her, not in the least comprehending the meaning of her
words. Everything--pain, hope, fear, passion--had slipped away from
him for a moment, as if he had been stunned by a physical blow. He
could not have heard aright.

"Married?" he said dully. "Lynde, you cannot mean it?"

"Yes, I do. I was married three years ago."

"Why was I not told this?" Alan's voice was stern, although he did not
mean it to be so, and she shrank and shivered. Then she began in