y part. I shall have to tell her the truth,
brutally, frankly. I will have to say that I really never loved her; that
it was a boy's idea that continued into a man's thoughts, until one day
he realized that he loved another woman."

"But she really never loved you, John," I exclaimed. "If she had she
never would have allowed you to go away."

"I hope to God she never did!" he exclaimed. "But in those old days I
asked her to be my wife, and I told her I would wait for her. And she
has always been very fond of me, at least as a good friend, and--and--who
knows? I hate the idea that I must perhaps inflict pain upon her, some
day."

But I shook my head, obstinately.

"No, she never loved you," I insisted. "I know now how people love. It is
a desire to cling to one, to be ever with him, to share with him toil,
and pain, and hunger, joyfully, happily, for all the days and days to
come. And when you have to leave me I shall be restless and nervous, like
that poor dear Mrs. Barnett, until you come back and I can be glad again.
Oh! John! That girl never loved you!"

Just then the little parson's wife came up, smilingly as ever.

"Are you two having lover's quarrels already?" she asked.

"No," I answered, "I was explaining to him that no other woman ever
could--or--or ever would...."

"Oh! My dear," she interrupted, "the explanation of obvious things is one
of the most delightful privileges of the engaged state, and I won't
interrupt you any more. I'm going to see the new Burton baby, and, by the
way, here is a lot of stuff for Dr. Grant, that has been accumulating.
I suppose he may be allowed to show a faint interest in his mail, at
least after his nurse leaves him. Good-by, you dear children."

She put a large bundle of papers and letters in John's lap, and went
away, waving her hand cheerily. John didn't pay the slightest attention
to his correspondence at first, for we began to discuss some plans we
were making for a little house, but after a few moments he idly turned
over the medical papers, and the pamphlets and circulars, and suddenly
his eyes fell on a letter, that was addressed in big bold characters.

I knew at once that it was from that girl, and a little shudder came over
me. I rose and walked away towards Frenchy's child, who was now well and
playing with a long-suffering woolly pup, and began to talk to him. But
all the time I was watching and listening. I suppose one can't help doing
such things. Then I