"No, I didn't mean that. I love Bertram, and something very wrong must have occurred to cause him not to mention you in that letter. I want you to be happy. I want for you just what your father is getting now: greater knowledge of God and His love and wisdom and guidance. You see that guidance is the most everyday thing in the world: the closest; not anything far away or mysterious. If it is your fault that Bertram ignores you in this--" "Oh, no, no!" interrupted Linda. "It is not my fault. It is poor Bertram who brought us all to this. I appreciate more every time I read that letter--and I know it by heart--how valiantly he has worked to undo the mischief. At first I didn't pity him in the least, because the crime of getting my father into all that trouble overwhelmed my thoughts at every turn; but, of course, I can see now that it has been a hard experience for Bertram as well." Linda ceased, catching her lower lip between her teeth. "I know something of what you refer to," rejoined Mrs. Porter. "I know Bertram's reputation for influence in Barry & Co." "And you have been so good to me," said Linda hurriedly, "and Bertram is your cousin, and, as you say, you love him, I--I can't bear to discuss him with you." "But I can bear it, Linda, if you will allow me to ask you one question. Do you believe that Bertram intended any harm to your father?" "No," came the quick answer; "but he is so conceited and so opinionated--" "If you believe him innocent of wrong intention, should you become his enemy--" Linda's pale cheeks flushed and she straightened up. "When a person strikes you a murderous blow, Mrs. Porter, can you, before recovering breath, care much whether it was accidental or intentional?" "No! but after recovering breath, you can. What do you believe your father would say to your treatment of Bertram?" Linda glanced around at her companion quickly. "Aunt Belinda has been talking to you," she said. "She wrote me something of it before she came home. This letter that I have just read tells me most, however. You were very dear to Bertram, Linda. This double and treble sorrow of his appalls me." Linda saw her companion's eyes fill. "You are right," added Mrs. Porter, not very steadily, "we would better not talk about it at present. Better thoughts will come now that, as you say, the clouds have cleared sufficiently for you to think." They both leaned back against the rock for a silent minute and Linda saw her friend press her handkerchief to those brimming eyes. Tears and Mrs. Porter! Impossible connection of thought. "I would like you to tell me one thing, Mrs. Porter," she said. "Are you pitying Bertram, or me?" The older woman turned to her with a sudden flashing smile. "I am not going to pity the devil in any form," she returned, "because there ain't no sech animal. All this discord is no part of the reality of things." Linda frowned in her earnestness and grasped her friend's arm.