with the widow. At last I hurried off. The deed
was done, and the thought of this made every nerve tingle within me. I
hurried off to see Louie. What the mischief did I want of Louie? you
may ask. My only answer is: I wanted her because I wanted her. No day
was complete without her. I've been living on the sight of her face and
the sound of her voice for the past two months and more, and never
fairly knew it until this last week, when it has all become plain to
me. So I hurried off to Louie, because I had to do so--because every
day had to be completed by the sight of her.

"I reached the house somewhat later than usual. People were there. I
must have looked different from usual. I know I was very silent, and I
must have acted queer, you know. But they were all talking, and
playing, and laughing, and none of them took any particular notice. And
so at last I drifted off toward Louie, as usual. She was expecting me.
I knew that. She always expects me. But this time I saw she was looking
at me with a very queer expression. She saw something unusual in my
face. Naturally enough. I felt as though I had committed a murder. And
so I had. I had murdered my hope--my love--my darling--my only life and
joy. I'm not humbugging, Macrorie--don't chaff, for Heaven's sake!"

I wasn't chaffing, and had no idea of such a thing. I was simply
listening, with a very painful sympathy with Jack's evident emotion.

"We were apart from the others," he continued, in a tremulous voice.
"She looked at me, and I looked at her. I saw trouble in her face, and
she saw trouble in mine. So we sat. We were silent for some time. No
nonsense now. No laughter. No more teasing and coaxing. Poor little
Louie! How distressed she looked! Where was her sweet smile now? Where
was her laughing voice? Where was her bright, animated face--her
sparkling eyes--her fun--her merriment--her chaff? Poor little Louie!"

And Jack's voice died away into a moan of grief.

But he rallied again, and went on:

"She asked me what was the matter. I told her--nothing. But she was
sure that something had happened, and begged me to tell her. So I told
her all. And her face, as I told her, turned as white as marble. She
seemed to grow rigid where she sat. And, as I ended, she bent down her
head--and she pressed her hand to her forehead--and then she gave me an
awful look--a look which will haunt me to my dying day--and then--and
then--then--she--she burst into tears--and, oh, Ma