y prefer to use dull
weapons that mash the life out slowly? Everything is at an end for me
to-night, and that blow did it. It was a horrible cruel thing for him
to say to me! I know now that I have been in love with John Moore for
longer than I can tell, and that I'll never love anybody else, and that
also I have offered myself to him and have had to be refused at least
twice a day for a year. A widow can't say she didn't understand what she
was doing, even to herself, but-- My humiliation is complete, and the
only thing that can make me ever hold up my head is to puzzle him by--by
_happily_ marrying Alfred Bennett--and quick.

Of course, he must suspect how I feel about him, for two people couldn't
both be so ignorant as not to see such an enormous thing as my love for
him is, and I was the blind one. But he must never, never know that I
ever realised it, for he is so good that it would distress him. I must
just go on in my foolish way with him until I can get away. I'll tell
him I'm sorry I was so indignant to-night, and say that I think it will
be fine for him to take my Billy away from me with him. I must smile at
the idea of having my very soul amputated, insist that it is the only
thing to do, and pack up the little soul in a cabin trunk with a smile.
Just smile, that is all! Life demands smiles from a woman even if she
must crush their perfume from her own heart; and she generally has them
ready.

Oh, Molly, Molly, is it for this you came into the world, twice to give
yourself without love? What difference does it make that your arms are
strong and white if they can't clasp him? Why are your eyes blue pools
of love if they are not for his questioning?

Yes, I know God is very tender with a woman, and I think He understands;
so, if she crept very close to Him and caught at His sleeve to steady
herself, He would be kind to her until she had the courage to go on
along her own steep way. Please, God, never let him find out, for it
would hurt him to have hurt me!

Leaf VIII.

Melted.

Some days are like the miracle flowers that open in the garden from
plants you didn't expect to bloom at all. I might have been born, lived
and died without having this one come into my life, and now that I have
had it I don't know how to write it, except in the crimson of blood, the
blue of flame, the gold of glory--and a tinge of light green would well
express the part I have played. But it is all over at last and--

R