n't go yet till I have said what's in my mind to say,"
and laying his hand upon her shoulder he made her sit down beside him
and listen while he told her the love he had borne for her long before
she knew the meaning of that word as she knew it now--of the struggle to
keep that love in bounds after its indulgence was a sin, of his
temptations and victories, of his sincere regret for Wilford, and of his
deep respect for her grief, which made her for a time as a sister to
him. But that time had passed. She was not his sister now, nor ever
could be again. She was Katy, dearer, more precious, more desired even
than before another called her wife, and he asked her to be his, to come
up there to Linwood and live with him, making the rainy days brighter,
balmier, than the sunniest had ever been, and helping him in his work of
caring for the poor and sick around them.

"Will Katy come? Will she be the wife of Cousin Morris?"

There was a world of pathos and pleading in the voice which asked this
question, just as there was a world of tenderness in the manner in which
Morris smoothed and caressed and fondled the bowed head resting on the
chair arm. And Katy felt it all, understanding what it was to be offered
such a love as Morris offered, but only comprehending in part what it
would be to refuse that love. For, alas! her blinded judgment said she
must refuse it. Had there been no sad memories springing from that grave
in Greenwood, no bitter reminiscences connected with her married
life--had Wilford never heard of Morris' love and taunted her with it so
often, she might perhaps consent, for she craved the rest there would be
with Morris to lean upon. But the happiness was too great for her to
accept. It would seem too much like faithlessness to Wilford, too much
as if he had been right when he charged her with preferring Morris to
himself.

"It cannot be--oh, Morris, it cannot be," she sobbed, when he pressed
her for answer. "Don't ask me why--don't ever mention it again, for I
tell you it cannot be. My answer is final; it cannot be. I am sorry for
you, so sorry. I wish you had never loved me, for it cannot be."

She writhed herself from the arms which tried to detain her, and rising
to her feet left the room suddenly, and throwing on her wrappings,
quitted the house without another word, leaving basket and umbrella
behind, and never knowing she had left them, or how the rain was pouring
down upon her unsheltered person unti