rd, shallow gaze of her
husband fixed upon her, curiously. But if he drew his own conclusions
from her pallor, her starry eyes, her long fits of brooding, he at least
did not trouble her with questions. Which perhaps was just as well. She
would have answered them.

For a while she went about in a sort of daze, living over again what had
passed in the ravine, wondering what she and Jacques would say to each
other when he came to her. Then she began to wonder why he did not come
to her. A week passed--two weeks. She grew troubled, frightened; for the
first time a little ashamed. What if it were not love with him? The girl
had learned in a hard school the difference between love and the thing
that is called love.

She spent hours out under the juniper tree, listening for the
pit-a-patter of a racking horse. She heard it often, but it did not
stop. The baby playing near heard it, too; and when it passed she
murmured with a tragic droop of the little mouth: "Aw--gone--by-by,
Muddy! Aw--gone--by-by!"

Presently Kate lost all sense of shame; ordered out a saddle-horse in
defiance of doctor's advice, and took to haunting the crossroads and the
village on the chance of meeting him alone. This never happened. Fate,
rather late in the day, seemed to have taken her good name into its
keeping. They met, of course, but under the furtive, curious gaze of
others. Usually, too, Jacques had his boy beside him. It was as if he
were afraid to go alone.

So Kate had nothing to feed her heart upon but an occasional grave "Good
morning," or a meeting of eyes that were instantly wrenched apart. It
was enough for her, however. This was no mere emotion she had stirred.
The man's face was worn as by a long illness. The least touch of his
eyes was a caress.

She grew to pity him more than herself. "Poor Jacques!" she thought
tenderly. "Poor, miserable, foolish Jacques!--" and longed to comfort,
to reassure him. She felt in herself the strength for two.

At last she wrote to him:

When are you coming, Jacques? I miss you so! Do not be afraid.
Friends need be none the less friends because they love each other.
Don't you trust me?

It was her custom to send her baby once or twice in the week to visit
the invalid, Mrs. Benoix. She gave her note to the nurse to carry.

"It is to ask the doctor for a prescription," she explained. "If he is
not there, it will not be necessary to leave the note. You understand?"

It was her fir