n which she was leading. The
practice of her art of fortune-telling was daily becoming a source of
unendurable pain as she saw more and more clearly the duty of leaving
the future to God and living her daily life in humble, child-like faith.
And in the second place, she was slowly awaking to the terrifying
consciousness that her affection for David was producing a violent and
ungovernable disgust for her husband.

By the flood of sorrows which poured from these two discoveries, she
seemed to be completely overwhelmed and if, like a diver, she rose to
the sunlight now and then, it was only to seize a few breaths of air by
which she might be able to endure her existence in the depths to which
she was compelled to return.

No wonder that life became a mystery to this poor child. It seemed as if
its difficulties increased in a direct ratio with her wish to discharge
its duties; as if the darkness gained upon the light, and the burden
grew heavy, faster than her shoulders grew strong.

The discovery of the nature of that affection which she felt for David
had been slow and unwelcome, coming to her even before David's
protestations of his love; yet one day the passionate feelings of their
hearts found expression in wild and startling confessions. They were
terrified at what they told each other; but it became necessary
therefore to seek the comfort of still other confessions and
confidences.

Their interviews had steadily become more ardent and more dangerous; and
the doctor's negligence giving them the utmost freedom, they often spent
hours together in wandering about the cities they visited, or the fields
and woods lying near.

On one of these tramps, their relationship reached a critical stage. It
was the early morning of a beautiful autumn day that they strolled up
Broadway in the city of Cincinnati, turned into the Reading road, and
sauntered slowly out into the country.

"In which direction shall we go?" asked David.

"Let us wander without thought or purpose, like those beautiful clouds,"
Pepeeta answered, pointing upward.

David watched them silently for a moment and then said, "Pepeeta, men
and women are like those clouds. They either drift apart forever, or
meet and mingle into one. It must be so with us."

She walked silently by his side, sobered by the seriousness of his voice
and words.

"Perhaps," he continued, "it makes but little difference what becomes of
us, for our lives are like the clouds, a