ou
wouldn't tell me anything except that Lucian was safely gone."

"I couldn't; I was ill," Margaret answered. She put her hand over her
eyes.

"Yes, I understood; or if I didn't that night, I did the next morning,
when the fever appeared. You are a wonderful woman, Margaret," the girl
went on. She had clasped her hands round her knees, and was looking at
the blaze. "How you did go and do that for me without a moment's
hesitation, when you hated to, so! I was going to tell you something
more," she went on. "But I don't dare to; I am afraid." And she laughed.

Margaret's hand dropped. "What is it you were going to say?" She sat
erect now. Her eyes showed a light which appeared like apprehension.

"I should like you to know it first," said Garda, her gaze still on the
hearth. "Evert is coming home to-morrow, and I want to tell you
beforehand: I am going to break my engagement. I don't care for him;
why, then, should I stay engaged?"

"You mean that you think it's wrong?"

"I mean that I think it's tiresome. I have only let it go on as long as
it has to please you; you must know that. I should have told him long
ago, only you wouldn't let me--don't you remember? You have made me
promise twice not to tell him."

"Because I thought you would come to your senses."

"I have come to them--now! The difficulty with you is, Margaret, that
you think it will hurt him. But it won't hurt him at all, he doesn't
care about it. He never did really care for me in the least."

"And if you don't care for him, as you say, may I ask how your
engagement was formed?"

Garda laughed. "I don't wonder you ask! I'll tell you, I _did_ care for
him then. For some time before that night on the barren I had been
thinking about him more and more, and I ended by thinking of nothing but
just that one idea--how queer it would be, and how--how exciting, if I
could only make him change a little; make him do as _I_ wanted him to
do. You know how cool he is, how quiet; I think it was that that tempted
me, I wanted to see if I could. And, besides, I _did_ care for him then;
I liked him ever so much. I can't imagine what has become of the
feeling; but it was certainly there at the time. Well, when you're lost
on a barren all night, everything's different, you can say what you
feel. And that's what I did; or at least I let him see it, I let him see
how much I had been thinking about him, how much I liked him. I am
afraid I told him in so many words,"