ibly
hurt."

"I'm awfully sorry," said Neal, with real concern in his voice. "How did
it happen? Was it one of your horses?"

"No," said Cynthia, hurrying over that part of it, for she did not want
Neal to know that Edith had been with Bronson; "but she was very much
hurt, Neal. She was unconscious nearly all night, and the doctor thought
perhaps she--she would die. Oh, Neal, won't you come back? Won't you
please come back?"

Neal rose abruptly, and began to walk up and down the little clearing.

"I wish you wouldn't, Cynthia," he remonstrated; "I've told you I
couldn't, and you ought not to ask me. I'm awfully sorry about Edith,
and I'm sorry Hessie feels so badly about me. I'll give in about one
thing. You can tell her you have seen me and that I am well. You needn't
say I'm going to the bad, but very likely I shall. You mustn't say a
word about having lent me the money, I will not have that explained.
There, it has begun to rain."

A few big drops came pattering down, falling with loud splashes into the
river.

"Oh, I must hurry back!" exclaimed Cynthia, hastily drying her eyes.

"It's only going to be a shower. Come up here where the trees are
thicker, and wait till it is over. See, it's all bright over there."

Cynthia looked in the direction indicated, and seeing a streak of cloud
that was somewhat lighter than the rest, concluded to wait. Perhaps she
could yet prevail upon Neal to come.

They went into the woods a short distance, and though there were not
many leaves upon the trees as yet, they were more protected than in the
open. It was raining hard now.

"Neal," said Cynthia, in her gentlest tones, "when you have thought it
over a little more I'm sure you will agree with me. Indeed, you ought to
come."

"I have done nothing else but think it over, and I tell you I am not
coming, Cynthia. I wish you wouldn't say any more. I sent for you
because I wanted to see you once more, and now you're spoiling it all. I
don't believe you care a bit about me."

"Oh, Neal, how can you say so? You know I do care, very much. I'm
awfully disappointed in you, that's all. I always thought you were brave
and good, and would do things you ought to do, even when you didn't want
to. It does seem selfish to stay away and make mamma feel so badly, when
it would only be necessary to come home and say you had borrowed the
money of me, to make everything all right. It seems very selfish indeed,
but perhaps I am mistaken. I