she should so soon forget the death of her father. It had come to her a shock, a blow. I had witnessed the intense suffering in her face at her earlier realization of the truth. She could not have forgotten so suddenly, so completely; her present effort to appear light-hearted, indifferent, must arise from some special purpose in her mind. In a vague way this occurred to me, but prejudice, doubt of her, had assumed possession of my brain, and I could not grasp the probability in any clearness. Her show of utter, heartless indifference hurt and blinded me. I actually believed the girl was glad of my capture; that she rejoiced at the knowledge that within a few hours she would be freed from all the consequences of our rash act. It was the reaction which had given her such high spirits, the exhilarating sense of escape, a relief so profound as to cause her to even forget her father's death. This was the conception which took possession of me, obliterating every other possibility.
At first the thought served to numb my faculties, and I rode forward with lowered head, all interest in life dead within me. Then pride came to the rescue, and I straightened up in the saddle. She was my wife—that slender, laughing girl! Of course I would never claim her; no word would ever pass my lips to bring to her pain and humiliation. No one
