he believed it, I know--probably believes
it to this day. But, thank God, it wasn't true!"

"How can you tell? All that strain and heart-break just at a time when
she wasn't strong. Oh, Dan! We can never be sure--_sure_!"

"I _am_ sure. Quite sure," he said steadily. "When I came to my senses
out there in 'Frisco, I couldn't rest under that letter from June's
sister. It burned into me like a red-hot iron. I was half-mad with
pain, I think. I wrote to the doctor who had attended her, but I got no
answer. Then I sailed for England, determined to find and see the man
for myself. I found him--my letter had miscarried somehow--and he told
me that June could not have lived. There were certain complications in
her case which made it impossible. In fact, if she had been so happy
that she had longed to live--and _tried_ to--it would only have made it
harder for her, a rougher journey to travel. As it was, she went easily,
without fighting death--letting go, without any effort, her hold on
life."

He ceased, and after a moment's silence Gillian spoke in strained,
horror-stricken tones.

"And you never told us! Oh! It was cruel of you, Dan! You would have
spared Magda an infinity of self-reproach!"

"I didn't want to spare her. I left her in ignorance on purpose. I
wanted her to be punished--to suffer as she had made me suffer."

There were tears in Gillian's eyes. It was terrible to her that Dan
could be so bitter--so vengefully cruel. Yet she recognised that it had
been but the natural outcome of the man's primitive nature to pay back
good for good and evil for evil.

"Then why do you tell me now?" she asked at last.

"Why--because you've beaten me--you with your sweetness and courage and
tolerance. You've taught me that retribution and punishment are best
left in--more merciful Hands than ours."

Gillian's hand went out to meet his.

"Oh, Dan, I'm so glad!" she said simply.

He kept her hand in his a moment, then released it gently.

"Well, you can tell her now," he said awkwardly.

"I?" Gillian smiled a little. "No. I want you to tell her. Don't you
see, Dan"--as she sensed his impulse to refuse--"it will make all the
difference in Magda if you and she are--are square with each other?
She's overweighted. She's been carrying a bigger burden than she can
bear. Michael comes first, of course, but there's been her treatment of
you, as well. June, too. And--and other things. And it's crushing her.
. . . No, you must