the sight of his trouble touched her as it never failed to do even when
she believed it to be imaginary. As soon as possible she left the table
and went to the door, glancing at him over her shoulder. He followed
instantly and, passing her swiftly as she stood in the doorway, he
beckoned her to come outside.

"What is it?" she asked, running to him.

She grasped his arm and turned white and began to tremble, not knowing
what she feared. There was something in his look, and something in her
own heart, which told her that this was no boyish whim or fancy, such as
she was often called to comfort and beguile for him. She could not see
his face distinctly enough to gather anything from looking at him; they
were standing beyond the broad band of light streaming from the open
door. But there was no need for sight; he poured out the story almost in
a breath, ending with Paul's message to her. And she understood more
than he had said, far more than he could ever say or understand, before
the words had fairly left his lips. The divination of a woman's
love--that marvellous white light--flashed the whole truth, and she
uttered a smothered cry as she saw it. So crying out, she shrank away
from him, and threw off his hand and struck at him fiercely, like some
soft little wild thing suddenly hurt.

"How could you? Why did you tell him?" she cried. "I hate you. I'll hate
you for this as long as I live. You have sent him to his death--you
meddler, you simpleton! And you don't even know what you have done. You
have sent him to his death, I tell you! Yes, that's what you have done,
and I will never forgive you while I breathe. He has gone to warn the
attorney-general, and he will be killed, too. You heard what uncle said
about the danger. What are the robbers or the country to me--beside him?
What do I care about what happens to the attorney-general? I wouldn't
care if every other man in the world was lying dead, this minute, if I
could know that he was safe. Oh! Oh! And you knew that he and the
attorney-general were friends. You knew he would go to help him. And yet
you told him--and he is gone--"

She broke into a helpless passion of weeping so pitiful that the boy
could do nothing but go to her and take her in his arms. She did not
resist; her anger was instantly melted in grief. Her arms went round his
neck, and she sobbingly implored his pardon.

"Forgive me--forgive me. I didn't know--I don't know what I am saying.
Oh! my hea