not
care for you, as I like you better than any man I have ever seen; but I
do not mean ever to marry. When you lost your fortune I was willing to
accede to your request, as I thought you wanted me; but now that you are
rich again you will not need me. I am not good enough to be your
wife,'for you are a good man; and better, because you do not know you are
good. You may feel uncomfortable or lonely for a little while, because,
when you make up your mind, you are not easily thwarted; but you will
find that your fancy for me will soon pass. It is only a fancy, Hal. Take
a look in the glass, and you will see reflected there the figure of a
stalwart man who is purely virile, possessing not the slightest attribute
of the weaker sex, therefore your love is merely a passing flame. I do
not impute fickleness to you, but merely point out a masculine
characteristic, and that you are a man, and only a man, pure and
unadulterated. Look around, and from the numbers of good women to be
found on every side choose one who will make you a fitter helpmeet, a
more conventional comrade, than I could ever do. I thank you for the
inestimable honour you have conferred upon me; but keep it till you find
some one worthy of it, and by and by you will be glad that I have set you
free.

Good-bye, Hal!

Your sincere and affec. friend,
Sybylla Penelope Melvyn.

Then I crept into bed beside my little sister, and though the air inside
had not cooled, and the room was warm, I shivered so that I clasped the
chubby, golden-haired little sleeper in my arms that I might feel
something living and real and warm.

"Oh, Rory, Rory!" I whispered, raining upon her lonely-hearted tears. "In
all the world is there never a comrade strong and true to teach me the
meaning of this hollow, grim little tragedy--life? Will it always be this
ghastly aloneness? Why am I not good and pretty and simple like other
girls? Oh, Rory, Rory, why was I ever born? I am of no use or pleasure to
any one in all the world!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

He that despiseth little things, shall fall little by little

I

The morning came, breakfast, next Harold's departure. I shook my head and
slipped the note into his hand as we parted. He rode slowly down the
road. I sat on the step of the garden gate, buried my face in my hands,
and reviewed the situation. I could see my life, stretching out ahead of
me, barren and monotonous as the thirsty track along which Harold w