to him. I knew he would kiss me, and I shuddered to think of it. It seemed more than ever not to be borne that he should do that—when I knew you loved me."
"Kathleen," cried her lover again, "don't dwell on it all so terriblydon't"
"How can I forget?" she answered despairingly, "and then"—she lowered her voice—"oh, I cant tell you—all the time, at the back of my mind somewhere, there was a burning wish that he might die. I used to lie awake at night, and do what I would to stifle it, that thought used to scorch me, I wished it so intensely. Do you believe that by willing one can bring such things to pass?" she asked, looking at Broomhurst with feverishly bright eyes. "No?—well, I don't know—I tried to smother it. I really tried, but it was there, whatever other thoughts I heaped on the top. Then, when I heard the horse galloping across the plain that morning, I had a sick fear that it was you. I knew something had happened, and my first thought when I saw you alive and well, and knew that it was John, was, that it was too good to be true. I believe I laughed like a maniac, didn't I? . . . . Not to blame? Why, if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't have died. The men say they saw him sitting with his head uncovered in the burning sun, his face buried in his hands—just as I had seen him the day before. He didn't trouble to be careful—he was too wretched."
She paused, and Broomhurst rose and began to pace the little hillside path at the edge of which they were seated.
Presently he came back to her.
"Kathleen, let me take care of you," he implored, stooping towards her. "We have only ourselves to consider in this matter. Will you come to me at once?"
She shook her head sadly.
