"Don’t you think you better wait here with me until—until Mr. Norval returns? He will speak openly to you then and explain everything." "No, oh, no, I couldn’t!" A great fear rose in Donelle’s eyes. "My dear, I am very sorry for you!" And Katherine spoke the truth. She was sorry, deeply so, but she was more shocked and indignant than she had ever been in her life before. It was to Norval’s credit that she did not believe the worst of him. She concluded that stupidity, rather than viciousness, had led him on to deceive this simple girl without realizing what the actual result would be. "And so you will not wait with me?" She watched Donelle cross the room. "I am so sorry, child. I wish now that I had come before." "Good-bye!" Donelle gave her a long, sad look. Then she whistled to Nick and went out, closing the cabin door behind her as one does who leaves a chamber of death. She walked along slowly, feeling nothing keenly, but noticing with a queer sort of concentration the flickering shadows; there were clouds coming up, it was growing darker. She was glad that she had closed the little house before leaving. If there were a storm all would be safe. Presently she came to Tom Gavot’s hut and went in, thankful that it was empty, though she knew Tom would soon be coming. She made a fire, brushed the hearth, and sat down upon the floor, trying hard to think—think! But she could not get very far. Round and round the one fact her thoughts whirled. The man she loved, the man she had trusted, had wronged her in the deadliest way. He had killed something in her, something that had made her happy and good. She did not want to remember anything now; she wanted to put herself beyond the reach of the look Norval had once given her, and of his later words—words which had made her trust him. Donelle grasped at the thought of St. Michael’s with a yearning that hurt her. If little Sister Mary were there, she would understand. Donelle was sure the lost look in Sister Mary’s eyes would make her understand. But St. Michael’s was a long way off, and Donelle meant to place herself out of reach of more hurt before Norval could see her. Pride, love, shame, and then—desperation swept over the girl. Everything had failed her, everything, and all because her father had left her mother! That was why people dared to—to play with her. And just then Tom Gavot came in, shaking the wet of a sudden shower from his fuzzy coat. "Well!" he cried, looking at Donelle with startled eyes; "what’s the matter?" "Tom, I wonder if you would do—something for me? It’s a big thing, and you’d just have to trust me more than any man ever trusted a girl before." A feverish colour flamed in Donelle’s cheeks. The light flickered in Gavot’s eyes, his lips twitched as he looked at her. "I guess you know there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, Donelle," he said, coming close and standing over her protectingly.