own
and that this needn't make the least bit of difference unless she wanted
it to. I said you felt just the same. I told her your speakin' to that
Heathcroft man was only for her good and for no other reason. You'd
learned that he was engaged to be married--"

"You told her that?" I interrupted, involuntarily. "What did she say?"

"Nothin', nothin' at all. I think she heard me and understood, but she
didn't say anything. Just sat there, white and trembling and crushed,
sort of, and looked and looked at me. I wanted to put my arms around
her and ask her pardon and beg her to love me as I did her, but I didn't
dare--I didn't dare. I did say that you and I would be only too glad to
have her stay with us always, as one of the family, you know. If she'd
only forget all the bad part that had gone and do that, I said--but she
interrupted me. She said 'Forget!' and the way she said it made me
sure she never would forget. And then--and then she asked me if I would
please go away and leave her. Would I PLEASE not say any more now, but
just leave her, only leave her alone. So I came away and--and that's
all."

"That's all," I repeated. "It is enough, I should say. Oh, Hephzy, why
did you do it? Why couldn't it have gone on as it has been going? Why
did you do it?"

It was an unthinking, wicked speech. But Hephzy did not resent it. Her
reply was as patient and kind as if she had been answering a child.

"I had to do it, Hosy," she said. "After our talk this evenin' there
was only one thing to do. It had to be done--for your sake, if nothin'
else--and so I did it. But--but--" with a choking sob, "it was SO hard
to do! My Ardelia's baby!"

And at last, I am glad to say, I began to realize how very hard it had
been for her. To understand what she had gone through for my sake and
what a selfish brute I had been. I put my hands on her shoulders and
kissed her almost reverently.

"Hephzy," said I, "you're a saint and a martyr and I am--what I am.
Please forgive me."

"There isn't anything to forgive, Hosy. And," with a shake of the head,
"I'm an awful poor kind of saint, I guess. They'd never put my image up
in the churches over here--not if they knew how I felt this minute. And
a saint from Cape Cod wouldn't be very welcome anyway, I'm afraid. I
meant well, but that's a poor sort of recommendation. Oh, Hosy, you DO
think I did for the best, don't you?"

"You did the only thing to be done," I answered, with decision. "You di