stly, "but I'd
'a' made a worse mess of it by runnin' than I did by settin' still.
Anyhow, you're goin' t' be married in three days, an' it needn't make no
difference. I've been a thinkin' about you an' I waited up t' talk." He
made room on the step for her to sit beside him.

"Thinking about me?"

"Yes. Mrs. Hornby says your mother was here to-day. She's kind of worried
about it--you goin' home, I mean. I don't know about that--I hope It'll be
all right. Try an' make it right, Lizzie. Th' Hunters go a good deal on
looks."

Elizabeth was silent.

Luther felt it and interpreted her silence rightly.

"Is that something I'm not to talk about, Lizzie?" he asked.

The question hurt worse than the statement.

"I--I--don't know why you ask me such a thing, Luther," she faltered.

Luther arose. He was not to be offended, nor would he put away what he had
waited to say.

"I only wanted to say that--well, do what th' folks ask of you, Lizzie.
You're only home for a couple of days an'--an'"--after a long pause--"an'
it won't hurt nobody."

Elizabeth got up slowly.

"Good-night, Luther," she said.

She wanted to offer him her hand; she was sure she was hurting him, but
she could not talk to him on this point; the very truth of his suspicious
that the Hunter estimate of her might be affected by scandal made of it a
sore point. Elizabeth Farnshaw would be loyal to mutual relations, even
where Luther's feelings were concerned.

They met in the morning on perfectly friendly ground, but there was an
attitude of reserve which brooked no remark on her part. Luther departed
early for his own house, and John Hunter came before noon to take her to
her father's home. After all her simple possessions were in the wagon,
Elizabeth went back and threw herself into the arms of Aunt Susan, who was
crying miserably.

"Oh, Aunt Susan! I feel as if I had taken leave of you forever. I've--I've
been so happy in this house--till yesterday. Can I ever repay what you've
done for me?"

Susan Hornby gathered Elizabeth into her arms and sobbed more vehemently.
The silence was unbroken except by those sobs, and at last the girl, moved
out of herself, tried to comfort her, and said coaxingly:

"I'll live right near you. I'll see you every few days and--and I'll never
forget how good you've been to me. It's--it's too bad these last two days
had to be so--so different. I--I don't know what went wrong,
but--but"--she laughed desperately--"wher