"I had believed that love," so Starr had written to his sister, "as men know it, was not for me; my work, my joy in the service had always seemed my recompense. I had asked Ann Walden to marry me because I felt sure of myself, and in this lonely place I needed the companionship, the wisdom and the social position her presence would give to this great work of lifting up those worthy of recognition. Then came the day when I saw the little sister--Ann Walden's and mine, for we had always called her that--a woman! She cast her childhood off like a disguise--I saw another man look at her and I saw her look at him! Something was born in me then after all the slow, sombre years--and I wanted--love! I think a madness overcame me, for, blinded and almost beside myself--I spoke to her--that child-woman, and told her how it was with me. She is the sort that wins your heart secrets by a glance of her tender eyes. And then----" Then came sharp words; disconnected and flashing like flame; but Ann Walden read on while her brain beat and ached. "It was I she loved. I had aroused her--she saw only one man in the world--me! "She lay in my arms--I kissed her. "I took her with me on a long drive through the mountains--there was a dying woman and my dear love carried the poor soul unto the parting of the ways with such divine tenderness as I had never before beheld. She sang and almost played with her until the sad creature forgot her death pangs. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw--that dying hour was perhaps the only joyous hour the woman ever had known--and my sun-touched darling gave it to her! "We were married on our way home. I wanted to speak at once, but Queenie pleaded. She did not wish, just in her own first moment of joy, to hurt the sister who was mother to her as well as sister. I listened, but I realized that my child-wife was afraid! That was it. With all her brave, splendid characteristics, Ann Walden is one to call forth fear. I felt myself shrinking hourly from confession. She is all judge; she can be just, but she cannot, I think, be merciful. Hers it is to carry out the law, not sympathize with those who fall under the law. She makes cowards of us all! She is too detached to reach humanity, or for humanity, erring, sinning humanity, to reach her. "The call came--I had to come to the sick and dying. I made half peace with myself by telling Ann Walden that I could not carry out our compact. I told her, what is the hardest thing for any man to tell a woman--that I did not love her. I could not love her! and that it was her sister I loved. I meant to explain everything later and confess--I expected to be back in a day or so--but I am here still and the chances are I must stay on for a long time, and I may lose my life; conditions are terrible, and only once a week a doctor comes!