"You can't! How can you?"

"Lie still," pushing her back gently among the pillows, "and let me tell
you."

"I thought I was to tell you."

"A while ago the postman brought me a note from your mother. She told me
that she had confessed to you something she told me last summer."

"Oh," exclaimed Marjorie, covering her face with both hands, "isn't it
too dreadful!"

"I think your mother saw clearly that she had taken your life into her
own hands without waiting to let God work for you and in you. I assured
her that I knew all about that dark time of yours, and she wept some very
sorrowful tears to think how heartbroken you would be if you knew.
Perhaps she thought you ought to know it; she is not one to spare
herself; she is even harder upon herself than upon other sinners."

"But, Aunt Prue, what ought I to do now? What can I do to make it right?"

"Do you want to meddle?"

"No, oh no; but it takes my breath away. I'm afraid he began to write to
me again because he thought I wanted him to."

"Didn't you want him to?"

"Yes--but not--but not as mother thought I did. I never once asked God to
give him back to me; and I should if I had wanted it very much, because I
always ask him for everything."

"Your pride need not be wounded, poor little Marjorie! Do you remember
telling Hollis about your dark time, that night he met you on your way
from your grandfather's?"

"Yes; I think I do. Yes, I know I told him; for he called me 'Mousie,'
and he had not said that since I was little; and with it he seemed to
come back to me, and I was not afraid or timid with him after that."

"You wrote me about the talk, and he has told me about it since. To be
frank, Marjorie, he told me about the conversation with your mother, and
how startled he was. After that talk with you he was assured that she was
mistaken--but, child, there was no harm, no sin--even if it had been
true. The only sin I find was your mother's want of faith in making
haste. And she sees it now and laments it. She says making haste has been
the sin of her lifetime. Her unbelief has taken that form. You were very
chilly to Hollis last night."

"I couldn't help it," said Marjorie. "I would not have come if I could
have stayed at home."

"Is that proud heart satisfied now?"

"Perhaps it oughtn't to be--if it is proud."

"We will not argue about it now as there's somebody waiting for you
down-stairs."

"I don't want to see him--now."

"Suppose he want