te prayer. But the drivers, through
miles of dark squalid road, poured out their souls to the dryads and the
saints, and Lucy poured out hers to her cousin.

"Charlotte, dear Charlotte, kiss me. Kiss me again. Only you can
understand me. You warned me to be careful. And I--I thought I was
developing."

"Do not cry, dearest. Take your time."

"I have been obstinate and silly--worse than you know, far worse. Once
by the river--Oh, but he isn't killed--he wouldn't be killed, would he?"

The thought disturbed her repentance. As a matter of fact, the storm was
worst along the road; but she had been near danger, and so she thought
it must be near to every one.

"I trust not. One would always pray against that."

"He is really--I think he was taken by surprise, just as I was before.
But this time I'm not to blame; I want you to believe that. I simply
slipped into those violets. No, I want to be really truthful. I am a
little to blame. I had silly thoughts. The sky, you know, was gold,
and the ground all blue, and for a moment he looked like some one in a
book."

"In a book?"

"Heroes--gods--the nonsense of schoolgirls."

"And then?"

"But, Charlotte, you know what happened then."

Miss Bartlett was silent. Indeed, she had little more to learn. With a
certain amount of insight she drew her young cousin affectionately
to her. All the way back Lucy's body was shaken by deep sighs, which
nothing could repress.

"I want to be truthful," she whispered. "It is so hard to be absolutely
truthful."

"Don't be troubled, dearest. Wait till you are calmer. We will talk it
over before bed-time in my room."

So they re-entered the city with hands clasped. It was a shock to the
girl to find how far emotion had ebbed in others. The storm had ceased,
and Mr. Emerson was easier about his son. Mr. Beebe had regained good
humour, and Mr. Eager was already snubbing Miss Lavish. Charlotte alone
she was sure of--Charlotte, whose exterior concealed so much insight and
love.

The luxury of self-exposure kept her almost happy through the long
evening. She thought not so much of what had happened as of how she
should describe it. All her sensations, her spasms of courage, her
moments of unreasonable joy, her mysterious discontent, should be
carefully laid before her cousin. And together in divine confidence they
would disentangle and interpret them all.

"At last," thought she, "I shall understand myself. I shan't again
be troubled