d, even for the
sake of Clemency. It seemed to him again that he must go away, but he
remembered Gordon's pitiful plea to him to remain. Finally he went into
his room, to find that Emma, in her absurd malice, had left only the
coverlid on the bed. She had stripped it of the sheets and blankets. He
lay down with his clothes on and passed a sleepless night.

The next morning at the breakfast-table he looked haggard and pale. He
could eat nothing. Doctor Gordon looked at him keenly.

"What is the matter, Elliot?" he asked.

Clemency gave a quick glance at him, and her face worked.

"Nothing," replied James.

"You look downright ill."

"I am not ill."

Clemency rose abruptly and left the table.

"What is the matter, Clemency? Where are you going?" Gordon called out.

"I have finished my breakfast," the girl replied in a stifled voice.

Gordon insisted on making some calls that morning, and relieving James.
"You are worn out, my son," he said in a voice of real affection, and
clapped him on the shoulder. He sent James on a short round in spite of
his objections, and the consequence was that James reached home half an
hour before luncheon.

It was a beautiful morning. Spring seemed to have come with a winged
leap. A faint down of green shaded the elms, and there was a pink cloud
of peach bloom in the distance. The cherry trees were swollen almost to
blossom, and the apple trees had pale radiances in the glance of the
sun. The grass was quite green, and here and there were dandelions.
Clemency was out in the yard, working in a little flower-garden, as
James drove in. She had on a black dress, and her fair head was
uncovered. She pretended not to see James, but he had hardly entered the
office before she came in. Her face was all suffused with pink. She
looked at him tenderly and angrily.

"Are you ill?" she said, in an indignant voice which had, in spite of
herself, soft cadences.

"No, Clemency."

"Then why do you look so?" she demanded.

James turned at that. "Clemency, you accuse me of cruelty," he said,
"but you yourself are cruel. You do not realize that you cannot tell a
man he is a murderer, and throw him over when he loves you, and yet have
him utterly unmoved by it."

Suddenly Clemency was in his arms. "I love you, I love you," she sobbed.
"Don't be unhappy, don't look so. It breaks my heart. I love you, I do
love you, dear. I can't marry you, but I love you!"

"If you love me, you can marry me."