ut me;
and my poor little head was quite turned. His wickedness was vague and
romantic; for no one ever explained anything to me of course; and the
idea of leading him back into the paths of righteousness was quite
distractingly attractive. I had no one to put me right, you see--but
perhaps I wouldn't have listened if I had had.

"I won't weary you with all the silly details of the affair. My cheeks
are burning now at the thought of my colossal folly. He won his mother
over to his side. He was an only child; and she would have chopped off
her hand to serve him. She joined her persuasions to his. He swore if I
married him he would go out West, turn over that everlasting new leaf,
and make his fortune. He wanted me to marry him before he went, so that
he could feel sure of me. I did balk at that; I thought my word ought
to be sufficient; but he and his mother pleaded and pleaded with me.
Together, they were too much for me; and so, at last, I gave in. I
thought I would be saving him; I thought I loved him--it is so
easy for children to fool themselves! I married him."

Natalie paused; and with the ceasing of her voice, the great silence
of the North woods seemed to leap between them, thrusting them asunder.
Garth's heart for the journey was gone. He was thankful for the merciful
darkness that hid his face.

Presently she resumed in the toneless voice of one who tells what cannot
be mended: "We were married in Toronto. His mother and the clergyman
were the only witnesses. The instant the words were spoken, the whole
extent of the hideous mistake I had made was revealed to me--why is
it we see so clearly _then_? We went direct from the ceremony to the
station, where he boarded his train for the West. I have not laid eyes
on him since. His name is Herbert Mabyn--and that, of course, is my
legal name, which I have never used. It was his mother you met in
Prince George."

Garth drew a deep breath; and carefully schooled his voice. "Is he
alive?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "My journey is to find him."

"Was it necessary for _you_ to come?" he asked.

"There was no one else," she said. "No one but Mrs. Mabyn and he and I
know of the marriage. There were many reasons--and complicated ones. I
do wish to be frank with you; but I scarcely know how to explain. Only
one thing is clear to me; I _had_ to come; or never know peace again.

"I have a conscience," she went on presently; "a queer, twisted thing;
and with every man