him this evening, could you?" he asked.

Elizabeth looked down at him in surprise as she wiped her hands.

"Why--why, I thought you knew about Patsie," she said hesitatingly.
"Patsie's dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes. She died the night you were hurt. John drove her for Doctor Morgan,"
the girl said, wishing that she could keep the news from him.

After that first startled exclamation Hugh did not remark on the mare's
death; he noticed that Elizabeth never blamed John for things when talking
of him, and he liked her for it.

"What became of the horses that day--the ones on the binder? You kept me
so stupefied at first that I sort of forgot about them."

He forced from her all the vital details of the purchase of the new
horses. After he had received the answers she felt obliged to give he did
not comment upon any feature of the story. They never criticised anything
John did between them; in fact, they rarely mentioned his name, but Hugh
was struck with the necessity of knowing methods and facts regarding the
business and asking such simple questions as he was warranted in asking.
When the discussion was finished he asked again for Luther, and she
promised to get him as soon as possible.

Hugh Noland had a long afternoon to think out the situation into which he
had thrust Elizabeth, for when Elizabeth arrived at Luther's house he had
gone to town and the sun was so hot that she rested before starting home.
Hugh was only disturbed by Hepsie, who came once an hour to give him the
drink necessary when medicine time came around. It was lonesome with
Elizabeth away, but it let him think more clearly. Hugh saw that he had
entangled Elizabeth in a life which contained something altogether
extraneous to her whole character. Because she was perfectly open, the
greater would be the damage which must result to her if this life went on.
One wild moment of hope had been granted him when they had discussed the
possibility of telling John. How well Hugh remembered the searching
thought Elizabeth had given his question before she had shaken her head.
The time taken to think soberly of confession told more plainly than all
her words how much she desired it. The one thing in life which Elizabeth
most disliked was duplicity, and yet so long as he remained an invalid
their relations would be kept up. For this alone he would have been glad
to crawl on his knees to Colebyville, though he died on the way. Something
must be done to free the girl