; I never even thought of it. I was a brute. Can
you forgive me? Sometimes the thought of the responsibility I took upon
myself has been so terrible to me that I felt I could not stand it. You
did not realize what it was then that you were giving, perhaps, but
somehow I think you have begun to realize now. Will you forgive me?" He
stopped and looked at her anxiously. She was drooped and white as if a
blast had suddenly struck her and faded her sweet bloom. Her throat was
hot and dry and she had to try three times before she could frame the
words, "Yes, I forgive."

There was no hope, no joy in the words, and a sudden fear descended upon
David's heart. Had he then done more damage than he knew? Was the child's
heart broken by him, and did she just realize it? What could he do? Must
he conceal his love from her? Perhaps this was no time to tell it. But he
must. He could not bear the burden of having done her harm and not also
tell her how he loved her. He would be very careful, very considerate, he
would not press his love as a claim, but he must tell her.

"And Marcia, I must tell you the rest," he went on, his own words seeming
to stay upon his lips, and then tumble over one another; "I have learned
to love you as I never loved your sister. I love you more and better than
I ever could have loved her. I can see how God has led me away from her
and brought me to you. I can look back to that night when I came to her
and found you there waiting for me, and kissed you,--darling. Do you
remember?" He took her cold little trembling hands and held them firmly as
he talked, his whole soul in his face, as if his life depended upon the
next few moments. "I was troubled at the time, dear, for having kissed
you, and given you the greeting that I thought belonged to her. I have
rebuked myself for thinking since how lovely you looked as you stood there
in the moonlight. But afterward I knew that it was you after all that my
love belonged to, and to you rightfully the kiss should have gone. I am
glad it was so, glad that God overruled my foolish choosing. Lately I have
been looking back to that night I met you at the gate, and feeling jealous
that that meeting was not all ours; that it should be shadowed for us by
the heartlessness of another. It gives me much joy now to think how I took
you in my arms and kissed you. I cannot bear to think it was a mistake.
Yet glad as I am that God sent you down to that gate to meet me, and much
as I