knew my identity, my crimes all along, and that I
was afraid. Say you doubt me."

"I believe you," she said quietly.

"Thank you," he replied as quietly.

"And--you think it necessary, imperative that you go away?" There was an
unuttered sob in her voice, though she sought to choke it back.

"I do." He laughed a little--the laugh that had caused the righteous Dan
Crimmins to wince.

She made a passionate gesture with her hand. "Billy," she said, and
stopped, eyes flaming.

"You were right to break the engagement," he said slowly, eyes on
the ground. "I suppose Mr. Waterbury told you who I was, and--and, of
course, you could only act as you did."

She was silent, her face quivering.

"And you think that of me? You would think it of me? No, from the first
I knew you were Garrison--"

"Forgive me," he inserted.

"I broke the engagement," she added, "because conditions were
changed--with me. My condition was no longer what it was when the
engagement was made--" She checked herself with an effort.

"I think I understand--now," he said, and admiration was in his eyes;
"I know the track. I should." He was speaking lifelessly, eyes on the
ground. "And I understand that you do not know--all."

"All?"

"Um-m-m." He looked up and faced her eyes, head held high. "I am an
adventurer," he said slowly. "A scoundrel, an impostor. I am not--Major
Calvert's nephew." And he watched her eyes; watched unflinchingly as
they changed and changed again. But he would not look away.

"I--I think I will sit down, if you don't mind," she whispered, hand at
throat. She seated herself, as one in a maze, on a log by the wayside.
She looked up, a twisted little smile on her lips, as he stood above
her. "Won't--won't you sit down and tell--tell me all?"

He obeyed automatically, not striving to fathom the great charity of her
silence. And then he told all--all. Even as he had told that very good
trainer and righteous friend, Dan Crimmins. His voice was perfectly
lifeless. And the girl listened, lips clenched on teeth.

"And--and that's all," he whispered. "God knows it's enough--too much."
He drew himself away as some unclean thing.

"All that, all that, and you only a boy," whispered the girl, half
to herself. "You must not tell the major. You must not," she cried
fiercely.

"I must," he whispered. "I will."

"You must not. You won't. You must go away, go away. Wipe the slate
clean," she added tensely. "You must not tell the m