crazy to say such things to me." He studied her with suffering in his
eyes. "You are delirious. I am going to send the doctor to you at once."

"No, I'm not delirious. I know only too well what I'm saying--I have
made my decision. I will never wear this ring again." She turned his
words against himself. "You must not marry a crazy woman."

"I didn't mean that--you know what I meant. All you say is morbid and
unreasonable, and I will not listen to it. You are clouded by some sick
fancy to-day, and I will go away and send a physician to cure you of
your madness."

She thrust the ring into his hand and rose, her face tense, her eyes
wonderfully big and luminous. She seemed at the moment to renew her
health and to recover the imperious grace of her radiant youth as she
exaltedly said: "Now I am free! You must ask me all over again--and when
you do, I will say _no_."

He sat looking up at her, too bewildered, too much alarmed to find words
for reply. He really thought that she had gone suddenly mad--and yet all
that she said was frightfully reasonable. In his heart he knew that she
was uttering the truth. Their marriage was now impossible--a bridal veil
over that face was horrifying to think upon.

She went on: "Now run away--I'm going to cry in a moment and I don't
want you to see me do it. Please go!"

He rose stiffly, and when he spoke his voice was quivering with anxiety.
"I am going to send Julia to you instantly."

"No, you're not. I won't see her if you do. She can't help me--nobody
can, but you--and I won't let you even see me any more. I'm going home
to Chester to-morrow; so kiss me good-bye--and go."

He kissed her and went blindly out, their engagement ring tightly
clinched in his hand. It seemed as if a wide, cold, gray cloud had (for
the first time) entirely covered his sunny, youthful world.

CHAPTER XXVII

MARSHALL HANEY'S SENTENCE

After Alice Heath's carriage had driven away, Haney returned to his
chair, and with eyes fixed upon the distant peaks gave himself up to a
review of all that the sick woman had said, and entered also upon a
forecast of the game.

He was not entirely unprepared for her revelation. He was, indeed, too
wise not to know that Bertha must sometime surely find in another and
younger man her heart's hunger, but his wish had set that dark day far
away in the future. Moreover, he had relied on her promise to confide in
him, and it hurt him to think that she had not fulf