u will think more of her happiness than of your
own. Love, you know, seeks to make happy rather than to be happy."

For some moments the man stood as if trying to understand what she had
said. Then with a new access of grief and rage, he cried, "But my God!
My God! I want her. I cannot live without her. I could make her happy
too."

"No, never," said Jane. "She loves him."

"Ach--so. Yes, she loves him, and I--hate him. He is the cause of this.
Some day I will kill him. I will kill him."

"Then she would never be happy again," said Jane, and her face was full
of pain and of pity.

"Go away," he said harshly. "Go away. You know not what you say. Some
day I shall make him suffer as I suffer to-day. God hears me. Some day."
He lifted his hands high above his head. Then with a despairing cry,
"Oh, I have lost her, I have lost her," he turned from Jane and rushed
into the woods.

Shaken, trembling and penetrated with pity for him, Jane made her
way toward the office, near which she found Larry with the manager
discussing an engineering problem which appeared to interest them both.

"Where's Ernest?" inquired Larry.

"He has just gone," said Jane, struggling to speak quietly. "I think we
must hurry, Larry. Come, please. Good-bye, Mr. Steinberg." She hurried
away toward the horses, leaving Larry to follow.

"What is it, Jane?" said Larry when they were on their way.

"Why didn't you tell me, Larry, that he was fond of Kathleen?" she cried
indignantly. "I hurt him terribly, and, oh, it was awful to see a man
like that."

"What do you say? Did he cut up rough?" said Larry.

Jane made no reply, but her face told its own story of shock and
suffering.

"He need not have let out upon you, Jane, anyway," said Larry.

"Don't, Larry. You don't understand. He loves Kathleen. You don't know
anything about it. How can you?"

"Oh, he will get over it in time," said Larry with a slight laugh.

Jane flashed on him a look of indignation. "Oh, how can you, Larry? It
was just terrible to see him. But you do not know," she added with a
touch of bitterness unusual with her.

"One thing I do know," said Larry. "I would not pour out my grief on
some one else. I would try to keep it to myself."

But Jane refused to look at him or to speak again on the matter. Never
in her sheltered life had there been anything suggesting tragedy. Never
had she seen a strong man stricken to the heart as she knew this man to
be stricken. The sha