This is
where poor little Mr. Denner sat that afternoon. Oh," he added in a lower
tone, "just think from what a grief he may have saved us! I feel as
though I could never be able to show him my gratitude." Then he looked at
the transplanted bunch of violets, which was fresh and flourishing, and
was silent.

Lois sat down a little reluctantly. The memory of that June night, nearly
a year ago, flashed into her mind; she felt the color creep up to her
forehead. "Oh," she thought, "how contemptible I am to have any thought
but grief,--how shallow I am, how cruel!"

And to punish herself for this, she rushed into speaking of her
responsibility again.

Gifford noticed her nervousness. "She is afraid of me," he said to
himself. "She wouldn't be, if she cared."

"You see, Gifford," she began, "I keep saying to myself every moment,
'I did it--it was my carelessness--all, all my fault.' Father tried to
comfort me, and so did Mrs. Forsythe as soon as she could speak, and Mr.
Denner has sent word that I must not give him a thought (dear Mr.
Denner!), but oh, I know!"

Gifford looked at her pale face, with the sweet trembling lip. "It is
awfully hard for you," he said.

"Every one said I was not to blame," she went on unsteadily, "that it
was not my fault; but, Gifford, if they die, I shall have been their
murderer!"

She pressed her hands tight together to keep her self-control.

"No, Lois," he answered gently, "it is not right to feel that; your will
would be to die now for either of them" ("Oh, yes, yes!" she said), "so
don't blame yourself any more than you must."

"Than I must?" she repeated slowly, looking at him with questioning eyes.
"How do you mean? They say there is no blame, Gifford."

He did not answer; his face was full of a grieved reluctance.

"Why," she said, with a quick breath, "do you blame me?"

Gifford put his strong, steady hand impulsively over hers. "I only know
how you must blame yourself," he said pitifully. "I wish I could bear the
pain of it for you."

"Then you say it is my fault?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, Lois," he answered, looking down at her with anxious tenderness.
"I wish I didn't have to say it, but if it is true, if you were careless,
it's best to meet it. I--I wish you would let me help you bear it."

Lois sat up very straight, as though bracing herself against a blow. "You
are right. I knew it was all my fault; I said so. But there's no help.
Let us go home now, please."