taken to the village hospital. Mother, Rachel and I lay
full length along the seats, the two men banked themselves up with
pillows, and endured the shaking as best they could, and so at last we
reached our separate homes. I have been sitting here by my desk
thinking, thinking, thinking for over an hour, and it all comes to the
same thing.

I have made one man unhappy through my selfish vanity; I will not ruin a
woman's life into the bargain. Rachel is my friend, and I will be truly
and utterly loyal to her. So far my conscience is clear of offence
where she is concerned, for if I have loved Will it has been
unconsciously, and without realising what I was doing. I have never,
never tried to attract him nor take him from her in any way. I have
looked upon him as much out of my reach as if he had been a married man,
but after this things will be different. I know the danger that is
before us both, and shall have to watch myself sternly every minute of
the time.

I suppose I shall be an old maid now, for I can't imagine caring for
anyone after Will. Father and mother will be glad, and I'll try to be a
comfort to them, but it will be dreadful getting old, and ugly, and
tired and ill, and never having a real home of my own, and someone to
like me _best_. Preachey people would say that it is wrong of me to
want to be first, and that I should be quite content to take a lower
place, but I can't think that can be true where love is concerned, else
why did God put this longing in women's hearts? Anyway, I've found out
that love--the _best_ kind of love--is His gift, and if it comes to me
at all it shall _be_ as His gift. I won't steal it! Poor, darling,
unselfish Rachel, for your sake I must guard my thoughts as well as my
deeds.

I think perhaps I'd better not write any more in this diary for a time.
It would be difficult to write of just ordinary things without referring
to the one great subject, and that is just what I must not do. My
business is to forget, not to remember. I must not allow myself to
think!

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

_January 1st._
I must begin to write again in my poor, neglected diary, for things are
happening so fast that if I do not keep a record of them as they pass I
shall forget half that I want to remember.

The last entry was written on the evening after the motor accident,
nearly four months ago, so I must go back to that