of tenderness in
her voice.

"Because I felt it would be better for both of us to go away this
summer. I am working too hard, I think, and must have a rest. But that
is only a selfish reason; I feel it would do you good to be among new
people and new scenes."

Marion looked into his eyes a moment and a dark expression of disgust
came across her face. "Why don't you speak the truth, Roswell?" she
said. "Why don't you say that you are going away because your wife is a
selfish woman who is discontented in her home; why don't you say that
she is a wicked creature who cares for nothing but her own amusement,
and that you are taking her where she can find new excitements? Why
don't you say this?" she repeated, and then she buried her face in her
hands and sobbed.

Roswell leaned forward and stroked her head softly. "I love my wife," he
said, "and I will not permit you to say such things about her."

"You don't know how wicked she is; you don't know how black her heart
has been," Marion replied, between the sobs. "O, Roswell, I shall never
be happy till I tell you all about it and ask you to forgive me. I have
thought it over every moment since you left, and I have tried to feel
right in my heart, but I can't until you know how wicked I have been.
You are too good and generous for a selfish creature like me; but you
must know that I have been untrue to you in my heart. Roswell, I did not
love you when I married you; I never loved you until a week ago. I did
not know your goodness before, and I was thoughtless. O, forgive me,
Roswell; forgive me."

Roswell raised her head until he could look into her face. "I forgave
you long ago, dearest," he said, "and now I want to see you dry those
sweet eyes. I guessed your trouble last winter. At first it was hard
for me to bear, and I had black thoughts in my heart, too; but when I
remembered how I had been bound up in my musty cash books and ledgers,
and how I had failed to enter into your life, I felt I had no right to
reproach you. I saw that you were drifting from me, and I knew the fault
was mine. Then I prayed that I might save you and win you back again."

"And you forgive me," said Marion, sobbing still.

Roswell kissed her. "It is I who must be forgiven," he said. "I ought to
have seen before that a woman like you could not love a crusty old
banker, who came home every night covered with the dust of the office. I
am a rough fellow who needs a lot of polishing up, but I