hts no longer, she brought drawing
materials down from the studio and spread them out on the dining room
table.

She had decided she would never marry any one--never. How could she!
But she would study in earnest and be an illustrator. If women could
never become great artists, as Peter Junior said, at least they might
illustrate books; and sometime--maybe--when her heart was not so sad,
she might write books, and she could illustrate them herself. Ah, that
would almost make up for what she must go without all her life.

For a while she worked painstakingly, but all the time it seemed as
though she could hear Richard's voice, and the words he had said to
her Sunday morning kept repeating themselves over and over in her
mind. Then the tears fell one by one and blurred her work, until at
last she put her head down on her arms and wept. Then the door opened
very softly and Richard entered. Swiftly he came to her and knelt at
her side. He put his head on her knee, and his whole body shook with
tearless sobs he could not restrain. He was faint and weak. She could
not know the whole cause of his grief, and thought he suffered because
of her. She must comfort him--but alas! What could she say? How could
she comfort him?

She put her trembling hand on his head and found the hair matted and
stiff. Then she saw a wound above his temple, and knew he was hurt,
and cried out: "You are hurt--you are hurt! Oh, Richard! Let me do
something for you."

He clasped her in his arms, but still did not look up at her, and
Betty forgot all her shame, and her lessons in propriety. She lifted
his head to her bosom and laid her cheek upon his and said all the
comforting things that came into her heart. She begged him to let her
wash his wound and to tell her how he came by it. She forgot
everything, except that she loved him and told him over and over the
sweet confession.

At last he found strength to speak to her brokenly. "Never love me any
more, Betty. I've committed a terrible crime--Oh, my God! And you will
hear of it Give me a little milk. I've eaten nothing since yesterday
morning, when I saw you. Then I'll try to tell you what you must
know--what all the world will tell you soon."

He rose and staggered to a chair and she brought him milk and bread
and meat, but she would not let him talk to her until he had allowed
her to wash the wound on his head and bind it up. As she worked the
touch of her hands seemed to bring him sane tho