a dreadful time. I had to stay there. It wa'n't my fault.
If Barney had come back, I could have got here in season; but poor
Charlotte was settin' out there all alone on the doorstep, an' her
father wouldn't let her in, an' Sarah took on so I had to stay. I
thought I should die when I got back an' found out you'd been here
an' gone. Ain't you goin' to forgive me, Richard?"

Barney suddenly removed his arm from Sylvia's waist, pushed her
clinging hands away, and stood up again. "Now, Miss Crane," he said,
"I've got to tell you. You've got to listen, and take it in. I am
not Richard Alger; I am Barney Thayer."

"What?" Sylvia said, feebly, looking up at him. "I don't know what
you say, Richard; I wish you'd say it again."

"I ain't Richard Alger; I am Barney Thayer," repeated Barney, in a
loud, distinct voice. Sylvia's straining, questioning eyes did not
leave his face. "You made a mistake," said Barney.

Sylvia turned her eyes away; she laid her head down on the arm of the
hair-cloth sofa, and gasped faintly. Barney bent over her. "Now don't
feel bad, Miss Crane," said he; "I sha'n't ever say a word about this
to anybody."

Sylvia made no reply; she lay there half gasping for breath, and her
face looked deathly to Barney.

"Miss Crane, are you sick?" he cried out in alarm. When she did not
answer, he even laid hold of her shoulder, and shook her gently, and
repeated the question. He did not know if she were faint or dying; he
had never seen anybody faint or die. He wished instinctively that his
mother were there; he thought for a second of running for her in
spite of everything.

"I'll go and get some water for you, Miss Crane," he said,
desperately, and seized the candle, and went with it, flaring and
leaving a wake of smoke, out into the kitchen. He presently came back
with a dipper of water, and held it dripping over Sylvia. "Hadn't you
better drink a little?" he urged. But Sylvia suddenly motioned him
away and sat up. "No, I don't want any water; I don't want anything
after this," she said, in a quick, desperate tone. "I can never look
anybody in the face again. I can never go to meetin' again."

"Don't you feel so about it, Miss Crane," Barney pleaded, his own
voice uncertain and embarrassed. "The room ain't very light, and it's
dark outside; maybe I do look like him a little. It ain't any wonder
you made the mistake."

"It wa'n't that," returned Sylvia. "I dunno what the reason was; it
don't make any d