g to talk out," said Alison. "You knew my mind when you
got that letter, and that's about all I've got to say."

"That letter was a lie from first to last," said Jim boldly.

Alison turned and looked full at him. Her face was white. Her big
blue eyes blazed and looked dark.

"The letter was true," she said. "Girls can't help being contrary now
and then. I don't want to see you again, I don't want to have anything
to do with you. I made a mistake when I said I loved you. I found out
just in time that I didn't. It was a right good thing I found it out
before we was wed, instead of afterwards; I did, and we are safe, and
you can give yourself, heart and soul, with a clear conscience, to
another."

"I can't make out what you are driving at," said Jim. "You know
perfectly well, Alison, that I love no one in all the world but
yourself."

"Oh! don't you?" said Alison.

"Really, Ally, you will drive me mad if you go on talking in that
unreasonable way. Of course I don't care for anyone but you, and you
always gave me to understand that you returned my love. Come, darlin',
what is it? You must know that after all you have said to me in the
past, I can't believe that letter of yours; it is all against common
sense. People can't love and then unlove in that sort o' fashion.
Tell me the truth, Ally. Something made you angry; and you love me as
much as ever, don't you, darlin'? Come, let us make it up. There is
something at the bottom of this, and you ought to tell me. As to your
not loving me, that is all fudge, you know."

Alison's heart, which had lain so dead in her breast, began suddenly to
stir and dance with a queer excitement. After all, had she made a
mistake? Was Jim really faithful to her after all? But, no; how could
she mistake? She had heard the words herself. Oh, yes, of course, Jim
was false; and for all he had such an honest voice, and the truest eyes
in all the world, Alison must turn her back on him, for she could not
doubt the hearing of her own ears and the seeing of her own eyes.

"I am sorry," she said, in a cold voice, when Jim had paused and looked
eagerly for her answer. "I am sorry, but after all it is a pity that
we met to-day, for my letter really told you everything. I don't love
you. You wouldn't marry a girl what didn't love you; would you, Jim?"

"No, no," said Jim; "no marriage could be happy, it would be a cruel
mistake, without love. It seems to me that marriage