n now and flee from it, out into the wilderness somewhere
and hide himself from human kind, where no one would know, and no one ever
ask him about his wife!

He groaned in spirit as the horse drew up to the door, and the heavy head
of the sweet girl who was his wife reminded him that he could not go away,
but must stay and face the responsibilities of life which he had taken
upon himself, and bear the pain that was his. It was not the fault of the
girl he had married. She sorrowed for him truly, and he felt deeply
grateful for the great thing she had done to save his pride.

He leaned over and touched her shoulder gently to rouse her, but her sleep
was deep and healthy, the sleep of exhausted youth. She did not rouse nor
even open her eyes, but murmured half audibly; "David has come, Kate,
hurry!"

Half guessing what had passed the night he arrived, David stooped and
tenderly gathered her up in his arms. He felt a bond of kindliness far
deeper than brotherly love. It was a bond of common suffering, and by her
own choice she had made herself his comrade in his trouble. He would at
least save her what suffering he could.

She did not waken as he carried her into the house, nor when he took her
upstairs and laid her gently upon the white bed that had been prepared for
the bridal chamber.

The moonlight stole in at the small-paned windows and fell across the
floor, showing every object in the room plainly. David lighted a candle
and set it upon the high mahogany chest of drawers. The light flickered
and played over the sweet face and Marcia slept on.

David went downstairs and put up the horse, and then returned, but Marcia
had not stirred. He stood a moment looking at her helplessly. It did not
seem right to leave her this way, and yet it was a pity to disturb her
sleep, she seemed so weary. It had been a long ride and the day had been
filled with unwonted excitement. He felt it himself, and what must it be
for her? She was a woman.

David had the old-fashioned gallant idea of woman.

Clumsily he untied the gay blue ribbons and pulled the jaunty poke bonnet
out of her way. The luxuriant hair, unused to the confinement of combs,
fell rich about her sleep-flushed face. Contentedly she nestled down, the
bonnet out of her way, her red lips parted the least bit with a half
smile, the black lashes lying long upon her rosy cheek, one childish hand
upon which gleamed the new wedding ring--that was not hers,--lying relaxed