d the shelter of the woods, and, with one wild furtive
look behind her to assure herself that she was not pursued, she flung
herself into the lap of mother earth, and buried her face in the soft moss
at the foot of a tree. There she sobbed out her horror and sorrow and
loneliness, sobbed until it seemed to her that her heart had gone out with
great shudders. Sobbed and sobbed and sobbed! For a time she could not
even think clearly. Her brain was confused with the magnitude of what had
come to her. She tried to go over the whole happening that afternoon and
see if she might have prevented anything. She blamed herself most
unmercifully for listening to the foolish music and, too, after her own
suspicions had been aroused, though how could she dream any man in his
senses would do a thing like that! Not even Captain Leavenworth would
stoop to that, she thought. Poor child! She knew so little of the world,
and her world had been kept so sweet and pure and free from contamination.
She turned cold at the thought of her father's anger if he should hear
about this strange young man. She felt sure he would blame her for
allowing it. He had tried to teach his girls that they must exercise
judgment and discretion, and surely, surely, she must have failed in both
or this would not have happened. Oh, why had not the aunts come that
afternoon! Why had they not arrived before this man came! And yet, oh,
horror! if they had come after he was there! How disgusting he seemed to
her with his smirky smile, and slim white fingers! How utterly unfit
beside David did he seem to breathe the same air even. David, her
David--no, Kate's David! Oh, pity! What a pain the world was!

There was nowhere to turn that she might find a trace of comfort. For what
would David say, and how could she ever tell him? Would he find it out if
she did not? What would he think of her? Would he blame her? Oh, the agony
of it all! What would the aunts think of her! Ah! that was worse than all,
for even now she could see the tilt of Aunt Hortense's head, and the purse
of Aunt Amelia's lips. How dreadful if they should have to know of it.
They would not believe her, unless perhaps Aunt Clarinda might. She did
not look wise, but she seemed kind and loving. If it had not been for the
other two she might have fled to Aunt Clarinda. Oh, if she might but flee
home to her father's house! How could she ever go back to David's house!
How could she ever play on that dreadful pian