frightened—that she had never let Tom understand.

Her eyes were dim and soft with tenderness as she leaned forward toward him.

“That you can understand, Tom. It’s very simple, isn’t it? And don’t you see, that’s just what father never has done. It has always been the right thing as he saw it, yes—but the right thing for himself—always the right thing for himself.

“And somehow, Tom, it doesn’t seem to work out, when you only figure the right thing for yourself. I don’t just mean that it hurts or sacrifices others—but somehow, some way, it don’t work out for you—yourself. It looks all right—you can’t see why it isn’t all right. But there’s something working against it—some law of nature—or God maybe—or something—and it just don’t work out. I believe that, Tom—I believe it absolutely—and—and no matter how hard it is, I’m trying to live up to it. I promised mother that.”

Tom moistened his dry lips. “Then so long as he lives you—you—”

She put her hand over his mouth.

“Don’t, Tom, don’t. It isn’t only that way—it’s in everything. The right thing always—even if it looks wrong and bad for me. And I believe in the end it will work out best—something we don’t understand will make it work out.”

Suddenly she slipped from her chair onto his lap, with her arms about him, her head on his shoulder.

“But I do love you, Tom, so very, very much.” All the yearning tenderness of love was in her voice. “I do want to be your wife—some day—when it’s the right thing to do.”

The telephone bell rang, startlingly loud in the silence of the little cabin. Beth pulled away from the boy and rose to her feet. That nameless apprehension—the vague presentiment she had felt before—came back to her now as she stood looking at the instrument, hesitating. The ring was repeated—a slightly different call this time, abruptly stilled.

“What is it, Beth? Is it for us?” The telephone was silent now.

She lifted the receiver. A voice in conversation sounded in her ear; instinctively she did not speak, but listened with an eager attention.

“Dead,” said the voice, “lying there dead, with marks on his throat—murder, all right.”

The little cabin room went suddenly black for Beth. The 

 Prev. P 8/11 next