I didn't mean to be dishonorable, darling Philip; I didn't know I was being, till mother told me. I never thought. I only thought, suppose I have a baby, and it's a poor little thing without a father, like Mag's, that nobody wants except me, and that mother and Jemmy and everybody would be ashamed of? I couldn't bear it!--And I didn't know mother asked you to marry me--I thought you wanted to, because you were unhappy and wanted me for company--we're so used to each other. Truly, I thought that! And I thought you knew, Philip. It seemed to me that you knew, without my telling you. Kate looked up here. "Did you know?" she asked. He nodded, without speaking. Kate's head drooped over the letter. "And her mother didn't," she thought. But it's all been wrong, somehow, and the only way I know to make it right is to go away, as your father did. Please, please let that make it right! You don't believe in divorce, of course, but I know enough to know this marriage of ours is not a real marriage, and could be put aside if people knew what sort of girl I have been. The Bishop will help you, I am sure. So I have written him all about it. Kate gasped; but the courage of it brought up her drooping head again. You must forgive me if you can, darling Philip, and thank you, thank you, thank you for being so sweet to me always! You must never worry about me, either. I am not going to die or anything like that. There is somebody who will help me, who always would have, only I didn't know it. I did him an injustice. Mother did not tell me. I can't forgive mother for that quite yet, but I will some day; and some day, perhaps, she will forgive me. You'll make her, won't you, Phil? Oh, I do love you both so much! It nearly breaks my heart to go away from the precious little house, and the puppy, and Storm, and baby Kitty, and everything. I've never been away before.--You won't take off your winter flannels till the frost is out of the ground, will you? Promise me! And don't try to find me, because I _don't want to be found_. Only don't let mother fret about me. I shall think about you always, no matter where I am. JACQUELINE. The two stared at each other for a moment without a word. Then Philip said hoarsely, "She means Channing, of course!" "No, no!" muttered the mother, shrinking, fighting against her own conviction. "She loves you too much for that. It is you she loves, now. She couldn't! She must have gone to Jemima. Oh, I am sure she has gone to Jemima! Come, we'll telegraph." She started for the Rectory at a gallop, her thoughts as usual translating themselves into action. Over the telephone she dictated a long wire to Jemima, carefully worded so that the curiosity of a country telegraph operator should not be aroused. Her brain never worked better than in an emergency.