erest
thing ever happened. I'd like to explain...."

"What is the use, Mr. Ennis?" she replied, her voice revealing an
intense discouragement. "And besides, you are ill now. It--it doesn't
really matter what has happened, I suppose. I couldn't expect anything
else, I dare say. I was a fool to come, to--to believe what I did.
And--and I'm ashamed, it--it seems as if the least little pride that
was left me has gone--gone for ever. Please--please don't say anything
more. It distresses me and can't possibly do any good."

She turned away from him to stare into the fire again and watch the
little tongues of flame following threads of dry moss, till her face,
which had colored for a moment, became pale again and her lips
quivered at the thoughts that had returned to her. Uppermost was that
feeling of shame of which she had spoken. She had realized that she
had come to this man she had never met, ready to say: "Here I am,
Madge Nelson, to whom you wrote in New York. If you really want me for
your wife I am willing. In exchange for food, for rest, for a little
peace of mind I am ready to try to learn to love you, to respect and
obey you, and I will be glad to work for you, to keep your home, to do
my duty like a diligent and faithful wife." But the man had looked at
her with eyes genuinely surprised, because he had not really expected
her. And of course she had found no favor in his sight. She was an
inconvenient stranger whom he did not know how to get rid of, and on
the spur of the moment he had found recourse in clumsy lies. By this
time he had probably thought out some fables with which he expected to
soothe her. At any rate he must despise her, in spite of the fact that
he seemed to try to be civil and even kind. The important thing was
that the end had come. In her little purse six or seven dollars were
left, not enough to take her even half the distance to New York, to
the great city she had learned to hate and fear. For nothing on earth
would she have accepted money from Hugo. At least that shred of pride
remained. It was therefore evident that but one way, however dark, was
open before her, since the end must come.

But that unutterable weariness was still upon her. She was not pressed
for time, thank goodness. She had been given food in abundance and
unwonted warmth and, for some hours, the wonderful sharp tingling air
of the forest had driven the blood more swiftly through her veins.
Moments had come during which