gum curved like a bent flame
on the edge of the twilight dimness of the forest. The scarlet of the
leaves reminded him of the colour of Molly's jacket, and immediately
the voice somewhere in his brain repeated, "They say it will end in
marriage." The words awoke in him a violent and unreasonable resentment.
He could think of his own marriage quite calmly, as something that did
not bear directly upon his ideal of Molly; but the conception of her as
Gay's wife, struck a blow at the image he had enskied and then schooled
himself into worshipping from a distance. He was willing to relinquish
her as too fair and flitting for mortal embraces, but the thought that
another man should possess that elusive loveliness was like the thrust
of hot iron into his wound. That Molly loved Gay he could not believe.
That she was willing to marry him without loving him, was a suggestion
which appeared to him little short of an insult. True, he did not love
Judy to whom he was to be married to-morrow, but that was a case so
entirely and utterly different that there could be no comparison! He was
doing it because he was sorry for Judy and it was the only way he could
help her. Besides, had not Molly urged such a step upon him repeatedly
as the fulfillment of his obvious destiny?

The reasons were all there. He had them labelled and assorted in his
mind, ready for instant reference should they be required. Sleepless
nights had gone to the preparation of them, and yet--and yet--in his
heart he knew, beyond contradiction, that he was wedding Judy because
his pity had once made a fool of him. He had acted from the loftiest
motives when he had asked her to marry him, and twenty-four hours later
he would have given ten years of his life to have been able to eliminate
those lofty motives from his character. To go back on her was, of
course, out of the question. In the history of Old Church no man--with
the exception of two drunkards and old Mr. Jonathan Gay--had ever
gone back on a woman. With girls it was different, since they, being
sentimentally above the proneness to error as well as practically below
the liability for maintenance, might play fast and loose wherever
their fleeting fancy alighted. But in the case of his unhappy sex an
honourable inclination once yielded to, was established forever. His
sacrifice was sanctioned by custom. There was no escape since it was
tradition that held him by the throat.

His business in Applegate, which inc