of caprice. He knew that she not merely tried to seem happy, but she wanted to be so, and he deeply pitied, her. Perhaps he was more patient with her, thinking as he did that he understood her. For when the first heat of his indignation was over, and the interests of his new life had influenced him, he was sorry for me, and he sometimes found himself thinking of me with what was affection and regret. Yet never did he forgive me. He considered me scheming and false, and he blamed me for Juliet's misery. When he saw her so unhappy and restless, he wondered at her faithfulness, her passionate love for me. He thought I had wounded her to the death, and it incensed him that I had had the power to work so ill a fate on so fair a soul. That neither of them spoke of me only made the trouble blacker. And yet, through it all, Bernard loved me as he might a sister who had bitterly hurt him.
So, because he thought silence best, he did not tell her of Duncan's letter. It was hardly a letter. It was a message to Juliet, and it ran thus:
"I want you to tell your wife that I found Janet in St. Louis, very poor, living in lodgings, and sewing for a living. She has been very ill since I found her, and to-day for the first time is sitting up. I have implored her to let me send for a minister who would marry us, and then I could take her away and get some comfort and health for her. But she will not consent; and I cannot, while she is so very weak, compel her to consent, because the mention of it gives her so much distress. She has made up her mind to die. And she will die, if the burden is not lifted off her mind. Say that to Juliet. I know nothing, but I divine a great deal. If Janet were well, I would have no inferences, no half-confidences. From beginning to end, she should tell me the whole miserable story, and where the sin belongs, there it should rest. Say this also to Juliet. Say to her that I cannot force Janet to speak. It would kill her. And tell her that I am determined that the sweetest soul that ever lived, the bravest, most loving victim that ever suffered, the woman who saw life through the eves of those she loved, and tried to shape it to their liking, shall not go to her grave because she is unprotected, unguarded. I cannot leave Janet, or I should come at once for Juliet, I know that if she was to see her, broken down, worn and weary beyond words, but more beautiful than ever, Juliet's heart would do her justice. She looks like a saint, with her bright and beautiful hair around her like a glory. I do not mean to let her die. Tell Juliet that I trust to her, but that if word does not come quickly to me, I shall do what any honest man should do to protect the name and save the life of one as precious to me as Janet has always been."
And all this Bernard understood as a vehement, unreasonable demand for Juliet's forgiveness and presence, and he kept the letter in his pocket, and said nothing.
But when women have loved each other as Juliet and I had, and when each is suffering because of the other, the very air will carry messages, and Juliet grew paler and more restless, until Bernard insisted that she should go to Italy with him. And she consented, because she did not care where she was.
The night before they were to start, Bernard was out, and came
