fe for him.

"You will ask, Does he love her? I answer, Yes. When he came back to the
island, and found her so different, the same elfish little creature, but
now strangely pretty, openly fond of him, following him everywhere, with
the words of a child but the eyes of a woman, he was at first surprised,
then annoyed, then amused, interested, and finally fascinated. He
struggled against it. I give him the due of justice--he did struggle.
But Tita was always _there_. He went away hurriedly at the last, and if
it had not been for Dr. Gaston's illness and his own recall to the
island, it might not have gone farther. Tita understood this as well as
I did; she made the most of her time. Still, I am quite sure that he had
no suspicion she intended to follow him; the plan was all her own. She
did follow him. And I followed her. I caught up with them that very day
at sunset, and an hour ago I married them. If you have not already
forgiven me, Anne, you will do so some day. I have no fear. I can wait.
I shall go on with them as far as Chicago, and then, after a day or two,
I shall return to the island. Do not be disturbed by anything Miss Lois
may write. She has been blindly mistaken from the beginning. In truth,
there is a vein of obstinate weakness on some subjects in that otherwise
estimable woman, for which I have always been at a loss to account."

Ah, wise old priest, there are some things too deep for even you to
know!

Rast's letter was short. It touched Anne more than any of the others:

"What must you think of me, Annet? Forgive me, and forget me. I _did_
try. But would you have cared for a man who had to try? When I think of
you I scorn myself. But she is the sweetest, dearest, most winning
little creature the world ever saw; and my only excuse is that--I love
her.

E. P."

These few lines, in which the young husband made out no case for
himself, sought no shield in the little bride's own rashness, but simply
avowed his love, and took all the responsibility upon himself, pleased
the elder sister. It was manly. She was glad that Tita had a defender.

She had read these last letters standing in the centre of her room,
Jeanne-Armande anxiously watching her from the open door. The
Frenchwoman had poured out a glass of water, and had it in readiness:
she thought that perhaps Anne was going to faint. With no distinct idea
of what had happened, she had lived in a riot of conjecture for two
days.

But instead of fain