carried with her, Marcia let the tears come. Silently they
flowed in gentle rain, and had not David been borne down with the thought
of his own sorrow he must have noticed long before he did the sadness of
the sweet young face beside him. But she turned away from him as much as
possible that he might not see, and so they must have driven for half an
hour through a dim sweet wood before he happened to catch a sight of the
tear-wet face, and knew suddenly that there were other troubles in the
world beside his own.

"Why, child, what is the matter?" he said, turning to her with grave
concern. "Are you so tired? I'm afraid I have been very dull company,"
with a sigh. "You must forgive me--child, to-day."

"Oh, David, don't," said Marcia putting her face down into her hands and
crying now regardless of the roses. "I do not want you to think of me. It
is dreadful, dreadful for you. I am so sorry for you. I wish I could do
something."

"Dear child!" he said, putting his hand upon hers. "Bless you for that.
But do not let your heart be troubled about me. Try to forget me and be
happy. It is not for you to bear, this trouble."

"But I must bear it," said Marcia, sitting up and trying to stop crying.
"She was my sister and she did an awful thing. I cannot forget it. How
could she, how _could_ she do it? How could she leave a man like you
that--" Marcia stopped, her brown eyes flashing fiercely as she thought of
Captain Leavenworth's hateful look at her that night in the moonlight. She
shuddered and hid her face in her hands once more and cried with all the
fervor of her young and undisciplined soul.

David did not know what to do with a young woman in tears. Had it been
Kate his alarm would have vied with a delicious sense of his own power to
comfort, but even the thought of comforting any one but Kate was now a
bitter thing. Was it always going to be so? Would he always have to start
and shrink with sudden remembrance of his pain at every turn of his way?
He drew a deep sigh and looked helplessly at his companion. Then he did a
hard thing. He tried to justify Kate, just as he had been trying all the
morning to justify her to himself. The odd thing about it all was that the
very deepest sting of his sorrow was that Kate could have done this thing!
His peerless Kate!

"She cared for him," he breathed the words as if they hurt him.

"She should have told you so before then. She should not have let you
think she cared for yo