e for Josiah?

"I took her photo from my desk. I seemed to detect a reproachful look in
the big eyes. I saw before me the scene in the little far-away home when
the first tidings of Josiah's marriage fell like a cruel stone into the
hitherto placid waters of her life. I saw her kneeling by her father's
chair, while the white-haired, bronzed old man gently stroked the golden
head, shaking with silent sobs against his breast. My remorse was almost
more than I could bear.

"I put her aside and took up Hannah--my chosen one. She seemed to be
regarding me with a smile of heartless triumph. There began to take
possession of me a feeling of positive dislike to Hannah.

"I fought against the feeling. I told myself it was prejudice. But the
more I reasoned against it the stronger it became. I could tell that, as
the days went by, it would grow from dislike to loathing, from loathing
to hate. And this was the woman I had deliberately selected as a life
companion for Josiah!

"For weeks I knew no peace of mind. Every letter that arrived I dreaded
to open, fearing it might be from Josiah. At every knock I started up,
and looked about for a hiding-place. Every time I came across the
heading, 'Domestic Tragedy,' in the newspapers, I broke into a cold
perspiration. I expected to read that Josiah and Hannah had murdered
each other, and died cursing me.

"As the time went by, however, and I heard nothing, my fears began to
assuage, and my belief in my own intuitive good judgment to return.
Maybe, I had done a good thing for Josiah and Hannah, and they were
blessing me. Three years passed peacefully away, and I was beginning to
forget the existence of the Hacketts.

"Then he came again. I returned home from business one evening to find
him waiting for me in the hall. The moment I saw him I knew that my
worst fears had fallen short of the truth. I motioned him to follow me
to my study. He did so, and seated himself in the identical chair on
which he had sat three years ago. The change in him was remarkable; he
looked old and careworn. His manner was that of resigned hopelessness.

"We remained for a while without speaking, he twirling his hat as at our
first interview, I making a show of arranging papers on my desk. At
length, feeling that anything would be more bearable than this silence, I
turned to him.

"'Things have not been going well with you, I'm afraid, Josiah?' I said.

"'No, sir,' he replied quie