"As he spoke the curtains in front of the doorway parted. My eyes, lifted to the height of fair tallness they expected to encounter, looked for an instant upon vacancy. Then they dropped to meet those of a grotesque and piteous little hunchback, whose agonized gaze cried to me, as did the hitching of her poor shoulders and the sudden trembling flutter of her hands to her mouth: 'For God's sake, don't betray me!' "He leaned his head a little on one side, listening to the silence. Then he said to me, laughing: 'Is she as charming as all that? Or do you refrain from speech for fear of alarming her?' "She stood quite still, her sharp-featured, tragic face, with its halo of reddish hair, raised toward mine, and her expression imploring, pleading, mutely compelling me. "I had to answer his question. "'Both,' I said. "As I finished he called to her: 'I always knew you were lovely, Rica, but this is a real tribute--the dumbness of admiration!' * * * * * "She told me later that he had fantastically described her to herself after hearing her play, at the same time dwelling upon the happiness it was to him to think of her so. She had longed to make her affliction known to him, but for his own sake had not dared. "'No one here will undeceive him unless you bid them,' she said, 'and you will not be so cruel! What has he left in life but this illusion? What have I but my love for him?' "And she did love him! I had seen tenderness and pity leap from her eyes whenever they turned in his direction, and he--What should a man have done?" ended the clergyman. The writer shook his head. "What did you do?" he asked rather hoarsely. "I married them," answered the other simply. THE WAYFARERS BY MARY STEWART CUTTING AUTHOR OF "LITTLE STORIES OF COURTSHIP," "LITTLE STORIES OF MARRIED LIFE," ETC. ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALICE BARBER STEPHENS XV "Lois, would you mind very much if we didn't move into the new house, after all?" "Not move into the new house! What do you mean? I thought it would be finished next week." "It means that I shall not be able to increase my living expenses this year," said Justin. Husband and wife were sitting on the piazza, in the shade of the purple wistaria-vines, on a warm Sunday afternoon, a month after Dosia's return. From within, the voices of the children sounded peacefully over their early supper. The afternoon, so far, had savored only of domestic monotony, with no foreshadowing of events to come. Dosia was out walking with George Sutton, and the people who might "drop in," as they often did on Sundays, had other engagements to-day. Lois, gowned in lavender muslin, had been sitting on the piazza for an hour, trying to read while waiting for Justin to join her. She had counted each minute, but now that he was there, she put down her book with a show of reluctance as she said: