s. She even tried in
vain to "think out" the first sentences that she must speak. Finding
this impossible she gave it up at last, and with all of composure that
she could command, she entered the parlor and stood face to face with
Guilford Duncan.

She could say no word as he stood looking eagerly into her eyes, as if
questioning them. He, too, was silent for perhaps a minute, when at
last, realizing the girl's distressing agitation, he gently took her
hand, saying in his soft, winning voice:

"You are not well. You must sit down."

"Oh, it isn't that," she answered, as she seated herself bolt upright
upon the least easy chair in the room. "It is what I must tell you."

"What is it? I am waiting anxiously to hear."

"You must be very patient then," she answered with difficulty. "It is
hard to say, and I don't know where to begin. Oh, yes, I know now. I
must begin where we left off when--well, that other time."

Duncan saw that she needed assistance, and he gave it by speaking
soothingly to her, saying:

"You are to begin wherever you find it easiest to begin, and you are to
tell me nothing that it distresses you to tell."

"Oh, but all of it distresses me, and I must tell it--all of it."

Again Duncan spoke soothingly, and presently the girl began again.

"Well, first, I can never--I mean I mustn't--I mustn't say 'yes' to the
questions you asked me that other time."

"You mean when I asked if you would be my wife?"

"Yes. That's it. Thank you very much. That's the first thing I am to
tell you."

"Who bade you tell me that?"

"Oh, nobody--or rather--I mean nobody told me I mustn't say 'yes,' but
after I had made up my mind that I mustn't, then auntie said I was bound
to tell you about it all. I wanted to write it, but she said that
wouldn't be fair, and that I must tell you myself."

"But why did you make up your mind that you mustn't say 'yes'? Can you
not love me, Barbara?"

"Oh, yes--I mean no--or rather--I mustn't."

"But if you can, why is it that you mustn't?"

That question at last gave Barbara courage to speak. It seemed to nerve
her for the ordeal, and, at the same time, to point a way for the
telling.

"Why, I mustn't love you, Mr. Duncan, because I cannot marry you. You
see, that would be very wrong. When you--well, when you asked me those
questions, it startled me, and I didn't know what to say, but after you
had gone away that night I saw clearly that I mustn't think of such a
thing.