Emmeline. If I had gone that Sunday when I had arranged to go,
for instance. Yes, that would have been very awkward, wouldn't it, Mr.
Thorne? Only, you see, Bertie happened to be ill that morning, and I
couldn't leave him. You remember you were good enough to go to church
with us."

"I remember," said Percival with a scornful smile as he recalled the
devoted attention with which he had escorted the young organist to St.
Sylvester's.

"He must have enjoyed that walk, I should think," said Judith, still
very quietly. Her unopened note was on the table, where she had placed
it that morning. She took it up and tore it into a hundred pieces. "You
have heard people talk of broken hearts, haven't you?" she said.

"Often," he answered.

"Well, then, Bertie has broken Miss Crawford's. She said this morning
that she should never hold up her head again if this were true; and I
believe she never will."

"Do you mean she will die of it?" said Thorne, aghast.

"Not directly, perhaps, but I am sure she will die the sooner for it.
All her pride in her life's work is gone. She feels that she is
disgraced. I could not bear to see her this afternoon, utterly ashamed
and humble before that man."

"What did he say?"

"Some things I won't tell you." A quick blush dyed her face. "Naturally,
he was angry: he had good reason to be. And when he told her she was
past her work, she moaned, poor thing! while the tears rained down her
cheeks, and only said, 'God forgive me--yes.'"

Percival could but echo her pity. "Bertie never thought--" he began.

"Never thought? When our trouble came," said Judith, "we had plenty of
friends better able to do something for us, but, somehow, they didn't.
And when there was the talk of Bertie's coming here, and I remembered
her and asked her if she could help me to a situation anywhere in the
neighborhood, she wrote to me to come to her at once, and she would do
all she could to help Bertie too. I have her letter still. She said she
longed to know me for my mother's sake, and was sure she would soon love
me for my own. And this afternoon she prayed God she might never see my
face again!"

"She thinks you are to blame, then?" said Thorne.

"Yes; and am I not?" was the quick reply. "Ought I not to have known
Bertie better? And I did know him: that is the worst of it. I did not
expect this, and yet I ought to have been on my guard. He has been my
one study from first to last. From the time that he was