invalid sigh deeply. When she could speak again, she
slid down on her knees by his bed and, laying her arm across the shoulders
of the man she had hurt, faced herself and her deeds squarely, as was her
way.

"It's of no use, Hugh. We've got to face it. I didn't intend to hurt you,
but I'm in a serious position. I must think of this thing all my life--and
I shall shrink whenever I do. I shall see everybody in the light of my own
life. I made no comparison between you and Luther. There's love and love
in this world, as I've found out. John thought he loved me and I thought I
loved him--and look at us! I don't know what Luther would do if he were
placed where we are, but that is not the question. I hurt you just now;
but, oh, Hugh! I love you too--God help me, and in the midst of it all I
want my self-respect back till I could almost die to get it. Sometimes I
think I'll go and tell John yet."

When for sheer want of breath Elizabeth stopped and looked at Hugh Noland
inquiringly, he asked eagerly:

"Could we?"

And for a long time she looked at him, till her eyes took on a faraway
look which said that she was going over details and experiences of the
past. In the light of those experiences she finally shook her head.

"No," she said with simple conviction. "You don't know John. He'd never
understand that---- Well, he'd mix everything uselessly. It would fall
hardest on Jack; his future would be spoiled by the humiliation of having
everybody think I was worse than I----"

Elizabeth could not finish her sentence for the pain on the face before
her, and hid her face on the same pillow and cried out her grief and
heartache till Hugh had to warn her that Hepsie might come in.

It was well that Elizabeth's mind was occupied with Hepsie while she
bathed and cooled her swollen eyelids. Long afterward she remembered Hugh
had laid his arm across his white face at that moment, but she was never
to know the fulness of the self-reproach nor the depths of the despair
which Hugh Noland suffered--Hugh, who loved her. For himself, he did not
so much care, being a man and accustomed to the life of men in those
things, but he saw the endless round of her days, carrying with her
through them all the secrecy and shame of it; she who loved openness! If
she had been a woman who looked herself less squarely in the face it would
have been less hard.

"I think I'll talk to Luther too," he said at last. "You couldn't drive
Patsie over for