articular errand at Leyden. You seemed anxious to go, even if it
stormed."

"If it had stormed," she retorted, "I should not have cared! I hoped it
would storm. Then at least I should have run the same danger,--I hoped
it would be dangerous."

"I don't understand what you mean," he said.

"I forced that wretched creature to go with you that day when you said
it was going to be rough; and I shall have her blood upon my hands if
she dies."

"Is it possible," cried Libby, pulling in his useless oars, and leaning
forward upon them, "that she has gone on letting you think I believed
there was going to be a storm? She knew perfectly well that I didn't
mind what Adams said; he was always croaking." She sat looking at him in
a daze, but she could not speak, and he continued. "I see: it happened
by one chance in a million to turn out as he said; and she has been
making you pay for it. Why, I suppose," he added, with a melancholy
smile of intelligence, "she's had so much satisfaction in holding you
responsible for what's happened, that she's almost glad of it!"

"She has tortured me!" cried the girl. "But you--you, when you saw that
I did n't believe there was going to be any storm, why did you--why
didn't--you"--

"I did n't believe it either! It was Mrs. Maynard that proposed the
sail, but when I saw that you did n't like it I was glad of any excuse
for putting it off. I could n't help wanting to please you, and I
couldn't see why you urged us afterwards; but I supposed you had some
reason."

She passed her hand over her forehead, as if to clear away the confusion
in which all this involved her. "But why--why did you let me go on
thinking myself to blame"--

"How could I know what you were thinking? Heaven knows I didn't dream of
such a thing! Though I remember, now, your saying"--

"Oh, I see!" she cried. "You are a man! But I can't forgive it,--no,
I can't forgive it! You wished to deceive her if you did n't wish to
deceive me. How can you excuse yourself for repeating what you did n't
believe?"

"I was willing she should think Adams was right."

"And that was deceit. What can you say to it?"

"There is only one thing I could say," he murmured, looking hopelessly
into her eyes, "and that's of no use."

She turned her head away. Her tragedy had fallen to nothing; or rather
it had never been. All her remorse, all her suffering, was mere farce
now; but his guilt in the matter was the greater. A fierce resentment