problem just as the little Mary-'Gusta used to think out
her small ones, her duty became clear and more clear to her mind. Edgar
Farmer's secret must be kept. For Crawford's sake it must be. He need
not--he must not--learn that the father he had honored and respected all
his life was unworthy of that honor and respect. And her uncles--they
must not know. The old skeleton must not be dug from its grave. Her
Uncle Zoeth had told her only a little while before that he was learning
to forget, or if not to forget at least to be more reconciled. She
did not understand him then; now she did. To have him learn that Edgar
Farmer was alive, that his son--Oh, no, he must not learn it! Ill as he
was, and weak as he was likely to be always, the shock might kill him.
And yet sooner or later he would learn unless the secret remained, as it
had been for years, undisclosed.

And to keep it still a secret was, she saw clearly, her duty. She might
rebel against it, she might feel that it was wicked and cruel,
the spoiling of her life to save these others, but it was her duty
nevertheless. Because she loved Crawford--and she was realizing now that
she did love him dearly, that there could never be another love in the
world for her---she must send him away, she must end the affair at
once. If she did that she could save him from learning of his father's
disgrace, could avert the otherwise inevitable quarrel between them,
could make his career and his future secure. And her uncles would be
happy, the skeleton would remain undisturbed.

Yes, she must do it. But it was so hard to do. Philosophy did not help
in the least. She had tried to convince herself when she gave up her
school work that it meant the end of her romance also. She had tried to
tell Crawford so. But she had been weak, she had permitted herself to
hope. She had realized that for the present, perhaps for years, she must
work for and with the old men who had been father and mother both
to her, but--he had said so--Crawford would wait for her, and some
day--perhaps--

But now there was no perhaps--now she knew. She must receive no more
letters from him. She must never see him again. The break must be
absolute and final. And there was but one way to bring that about. He
had said repeatedly that only her declaration that she did not love him
would ever prevent his marrying her. Very well, then for his sake she
must lie to him; she must tell him that very thing. She must write hi