of the
mate her heart had chosen,--demanded, also, that she help him to keep
that fine sense of honor and true nobility of character which had won
her.

She understood instinctively that,--now that she had confessed her love
to herself,--she would, in spite of herself, tempt him in a thousand
ways to throw aside that barrier which he had so honorably maintained
between them. Her heart would plead with him to disregard his better
self, and come to her. Her very craving for the open assurance of his
love would tempt him, perhaps beyond his strength. And, yet, she knew as
truly that, if he should yield; if he should cast aside the barrier
of his honor; if he should deny his best self, and answer her call, it
would be disastrous beyond measure to them both.

To save the fineness of their love, Betty Jo must go. If it should be
that they never met again, still she must go.

But there were other currents moving in the river that night. In the
steady onward flow of the whole, Betty Jo's life-currents seemed to be
setting away from the man she loved. But other currents, unknown to the
girl, who faced herself so honestly, and who so bravely accepted the
truth she found, were moving in ways beyond her knowledge. Directed and
influenced by innumerable and unseen forces and obstacles, the currents
which, combined, made the stream of life in its entirety, were weaving
themselves together,--interlacing and separating,--drawing close and
pulling apart,--only to mingle as one again.

Betty Jo saw only Brian Kent and herself, and their love which she now
acknowledged, and she had, as it were, only a momentary glimpse of those
small parts of the stream.

Betty Jo could not know of those other currents that were moving so
mysteriously about her as the river poured itself onward so unceasingly
to the sea.

CHAPTER XIX.

JUDY'S CONFESSION.

In spite of all their care, Brian and Betty Jo did not wholly convince
Auntie Sue that there was no more in Judy's disappearance than the
report from the neighbors indicated. The dear old lady felt that there
was something known to the young people that they were keeping from her;
and, while she did not question their motives, and certainly did not
worry,--for Auntie Sue never worried,--she was not satisfied with the
situation. When she retired to her room for the night, she told herself,
with some spirit, that she would surely go to the bottom of the affair
the next morning.

It happe