ked, perhaps, that all has been taken
from me,--all I had in the world. It is because I loved Grif best.
I have read in books that it was always so. Oh, why is it? I can't
understand it.. It seems cruel,--yes, it does seem cruel,--as cruel
as death, to give him to me only that I might suffer when he was taken
away. Oh, Grif, my darling! Grif, my love, my dear!"

This over again and again, with wild, heart-broken weeping, until she
was so worn out that she could cry no more, and lay upon Aimee's arm
upon the cushion, white and exhausted, with heavy purple rings about her
wearied, sunken eyes. It was not until then that Aimee heard the whole
truth. She had only been able to guess at it before, and now, hearing
the particulars, she could not help fearing the worst.

It was just as she had feared it would be; another blow had come upon
him at the very time when he was least able to bear it, and it had been
too much for him. But she could not reveal her forebodings to Dolly. She
must comfort her and persuade her to hope for the best.

"You must go to bed, Dolly," she said, "and try to sleep, and in the
morning everything will look different. He may come, you know,--it
would be just like him to come before breakfast. But if he does
not come--suppose," hesitatingly,--"suppose I was to write to him,
or--suppose you were to?"

She was half afraid that pride would rise against this plan, but she
was mistaken. Seven years of love had mastered pride. Somehow or other,
pride had never seemed to come between them in their little quarrels,
each had always been too passionately eager to concede, and too sure
of being met with tenderest penitence. Dolly had always known too
confidently that her first relenting word would touch Grifs heart, and
Grif had always been sure that his first half-softened reproach would
bring the girl to his arms in an impetuous burst of loving repentance.
No, it was scarcely likely that other people's scruples would keep them
apart. So Dolly caught at the proposal almost eagerly.

"Yes," she said, "I will write and tell him how it was. It was not his
fault, was it, Aimee? How could I have borne such a thing myself? It
would have driven me wild, as it did him. It was not unreasonable at all
that he should refuse to listen, in his first excitement, after he had
waited all those hours and suffered such a disappointment. And then to
see what he did. My poor boy! he was not to blame at all. Yes,
yes," feverish