e glow of forest fires burning through brushwood. "We
will never think of him again, Mr. David. I assure you that I am no
more to Mr. Sanderson than he is to me, and that is--nothing."

"Thank you for those words, Anna. I cannot tell you how happy they
make me. But I do not understand you at all. Even a countryman like
me can see that you have never been used to our rough way of living;
you were never born to this kind of thing, and yet when that man
Sanderson looks at you or talks to you, there is always an undertone of
contempt in his look, his words."

She sank wearily into an armchair. It seemed to her that her limit of
endurance had been reached, but he, taking her silence for
acquiescence, lost no time in following up what he fondly hoped might
be an advantage. "I did not go to the Putnams to-night, Anna, because
you were not going, and there is no enjoyment for me when you are not
there."

"Mr. David, if you continue to talk to me like this I shall have to
leave this house."

"Tell me, Anna," he said so gravely that the woman beside him knew that
life and death were balanced with her words: "tell me, when you said
that day last autumn by the well that you never intended to marry, was
it just a girl's coquetry or was there some deeper reason for your
saying so?"

She could not face the love in those honest eyes and answer as her
conscience prompted. She was tired, so tired of the struggle, what
would she not have given to rest here in the shelter of this perfect
love and trust, but it was not for her.

"Mr. David," she said, looking straight before her with wide, unseeing
eyes; "I can be no man's wife."

He knew from the lines of suffering written deep on the pale young
face, that maiden coquetry had not inspired her to speak thus; but word
for word, it had been wrung from out of the depths of a troubled soul.

"Anna!" cried David, in mingled astonishment and pain. But Anna only
turned mutely toward him with an imploring look. She stretched out her
hands to him, as if trying to tell him more. But words failed her.
Her tears overcame her and she fled, sobbing, to her room. All the way
up the winding night of stairs, David could hear her anguished moans.
He would have followed her, but Hi burst into the room, stamping the
snow from his boots. He shoved in the front door as if he had been an
invading army. He unwound his muffler and cast it from him as if he
had a grudge against it, as he proc