ive in such
torture as this."

The tears coursed fast down Betty's cheeks. Slowly she drew nearer
him, and bent down to him as he sat, until she could look into his
eyes. "What were you quarreling about, Richard?"

"Don't ask me, darling Betty."

"What was it, Richard?"

"All my life you will be the sweet help to me--the help that may keep
me from death in life. To carry in my soul the remembrance of last
night will need all the help God will let me have. If I had gone away
quietly, you and Peter Junior would have been married and have been
happy--but--"

"No, no. Oh, Richard, no. I knew in a moment when you came--"

"Yes, Betty, dear, Peter Junior was good and faithful; and he might
have been able to undo all the harm I had done. He could have taught
you to love him. I have done the devil's work--and then I killed
him--Oh, my God! My God!"

"How do you know you pushed him over? He may have fallen over. You
don't know it. He may have--"

"Hush, dearest. I did it. When I came to myself, it was in the night;
and it must have been late, for the moon was set. I could only see
faintly that something white lay near me. I felt of it, and it was
Peter Junior's hat. Then I felt all about for him--and he was gone and
I crawled to the edge of the bluff--but although I knew he was gone
over there and washed by the terrible current far down the river by
that time, I couldn't follow him, whether from cowardice or weakness.
I tried to get on my feet and could not. Then I must have fainted
again, for all the world faded away, and I thought maybe the blow had
done for me and I might not have to leap over there, after all. I
could feel myself slipping away.

"When I awoke, the sun was shining and a bird was singing just as if
nothing had happened, and I thought I had been dreaming an awful
dream--but there was the wound on my head and I was alive. Then I went
farther down the river and came back to the hiding place and crept in
there to wait and think. Then, after a long while, the boys came, and
I was terrified for fear they were searching for me. That is the
shameful truth, Betty. I feared. I never knew what fear was before.
Betty, fear is shameful. There I have been all day--waiting--for what,
I do not know; but it seemed that if I could only have one little
glimpse of you I could go bravely and give myself up. I will now--"

"No, Richard; it would do no good for you to die such a death. It
would undo nothing, and change