But then, Kate would be Kate, and his breakfast was getting cold. He had
the horses to look after and orders to give to the hands before the early
guests arrived.

But David did not answer, and the sight of him was alarming. He stood as
one stricken dumb all in a moment. He raised his eyes to the
Squire's--pleading, pitiful. His face had grown strained and haggard.

"Speak out, man, doesn't the letter tell?" said the Squire imperiously.
"Where is the girl?"

And this time David managed to say brokenly: "She's gone!" and then his
head dropped forward on his cold hand that rested on the mantel. Great
beads of perspiration stood out upon his white forehead, and the letter
fluttered gayly, coquettishly to the floor, a reminder of the uncertain
ways of its writer.

The Squire reached for it impatiently, and wiping his spectacles
laboriously put them on and drew near to the window to read, his heavy
brows lowering in a frown. But his wife did not need to read the letter,
for she, like Marcia, had divined its purport, and already her able
faculties were marshalled to face the predicament.

The Squire with deepening frown was studying his elder daughter's letter,
scarce able to believe the evidence of his senses that a girl of his could
be so heartless.

"DEAR DAVID," the letter ran,--written as though in a hurry, done
at the last moment,--which indeed it was:--

"I want you to forgive me for what I am doing. I know you will
feel bad about it, but really I never was the right one for you.
I'm sure you thought me all too good, and I never could have
stayed in a strait-jacket, it would have killed me. I shall always
consider you the best man in the world, and I like you better than
anyone else except Captain Leavenworth. I can't help it, you know,
that I care more for him than anyone else, though I've tried. So I
am going away to-night and when you read this we shall have been
married. You are so very good that I know you will forgive me, and
be glad I am happy. Don't think hardly of me for I always did care
a great deal for you.

"Your loving

"KATE."

It was characteristic of Kate that she demanded the love and loyalty of
her betrayed lover to the bitter end, false and heartless though she had
been. The coquette in her played with him even now in