ld envelope, and tossed it across.

Winthrop opened the envelope; it contained a small sheet of paper, upon
which, in a youthful immature handwriting, these words were written:

"MY DEAR LANSE,--I have stayed here by myself all day. And I have
been very unhappy. I have not let anybody know that you were gone.

"I feel as though I must have done wrong, and yet I don't know how.

"Perhaps you will come back. I shall hope that you will. I will
wait here for your answer.

"I will come to you at any time if--you know what. And I hope you
will soon send for me.

"Your affectionate wife,

"MARGARET."

"You see there's no trace of jealousy," Lanse commented, in his
generalizing way; "she wasn't jealous, because she wasn't in love with
me--never had been. Of course she _thought_ she loved me--she never
would have married me otherwise; but the truth was that at that time she
had no more conception of what real love is than a little snow image:
that was one of the reasons why I had first liked her. I've no doubt she
_was_ horribly miserable when she wrote that letter, as she says she
was. But there was no love in her misery, it was all duty; I grant you
that with her that was a tremendously strong feeling. Well, I answered
her letter, I told her she had better go and live with Aunt Katrina as
before, that that was the best place for her. I told her that I should
stay where I was for the present, and on no account was she to try to
follow me; that was the one thing I would not endure; I had to frighten
her about that, because she had so much obstinacy--steadfastness if you
like--that if I had not done so, and effectually, she would certainly
have started in pursuit--prayer-book in hand, poor child! She wrote to
me once more, repeating her offer to come whenever I should wish it; but
I didn't wish it then, and didn't answer. Eight years have passed, and I
haven't answered yet. But now I think I shall try it."

Winthrop had sat gazing at the little sheet, with the faded girlish
handwriting. Hot feelings were surging within him, he felt that he must
take a firm hold of himself; this made his manner calm. "What do you
want of her?" he said. "Aunt Katrina couldn't get on a day without her."

"Aunt Katrina would give her up to me," said Lanse, securely. (And
Winthrop knew that this was true.) "What do I want of her? I want to
have a home of my own again, a place where I can be comfor