Mark laughed when he was at a safe distance from her. There was nothing that Mark enjoyed more than what he called Doris' airs and graces. "She keeps him in order," he said, slyly. "Mattie, if ever you think of being married, take a lesson from your sister, my dear." "I hope she will not," said Mrs. Brace. "The true secret of being a good wife, Mattie, is to love your husband better than yourself; and though Doris is beautiful as a day-star, she will never do that." Then Mark looked out into the quiet, white moonlight, and said: "I shall begin to work in the Thorpe Meadows to-morrow, I hope the birds will wake me when the sun rises." And as he passed Doris' room he saw the light underneath the door. "Good-night," he said; "do not sit up late, writing, or you will spoil your eyes, and then Earle will grumble at me." "I shall not be late," said Doris. And Mark Brace, without a thought of the tragedy looming, went on. Mrs. Brace saw the light, but she had not yet forgotten the cruel reception of her advice about the gray calico. "Good-night, Doris," she said, without entering. But Mattie went into the room. The excuse had been a perfectly true one. Doris sat writing still, with a tired look on her face, her round, white arms on the table, and two letters by her side. "I have finished," she said, looking at Mattie. "What can I do for you, Doris--shall I stay and talk to you?" "No," she interrupted; "I am tired, and I would rather be alone." "Good-night," said Mattie, not particularly liking the rebuff. Then Doris went to her, and clasped her arms round her sister's neck. "Good-night, little Mattie--good, simple Mattie. Kiss me." The brown eyes were raised slowly to her face. "You have never asked me to kiss you before, Doris." "Have I not? Perhaps I never may ask you again. Perhaps if I asked you for a kiss this time next year, you would refuse to give it to me." "No, I should never do that, Doris." And the two faces--one so brilliantly beautiful, the other so good in its intelligent kindness--touched each other. Long afterward Mattie remembered that the warm arms had seemed to tighten their clasp round her neck; then Doris drew away, with a little mocking laugh. "What a sentimental scene!" she said; "the world must be coming to an end." Mattie wondered a little at her sister's manner, then remembered that she never ought to be surprised, let Doris do what she might. "Good-night," she repeated as she quitted the room, so little dreaming of all that would pass before she saw that face again. Then Doris re-read her letters. "Kindness in this case would only be cruelty," she said to herself. "Better for Earle to know at once. I should prefer sudden death to lingering torture." The beautiful lips curved in a smile that had in it much of pity. "Poor Earle!" she murmured, as she placed the letter written to him on the table. It ran as follows: