“Olive, Olive, Olive!” Ezra kept moaning as Madame drove him back to his deserted home. He seemed dazed and stupefied. Surely terrible news was never more crudely broken to a sufferer than was his bereavement to Ezra Weston, and by that tender and sympathetic friend, Madame Morozoff-Smith. Had Uncle David or Brother Green heard her, they would have been shocked beyond measure at having entrusted the painful embassy to such hands. Not one word of hope or comfort or of doubt even, nothing but the bald hideous story in its worst complexion thrown at him. Olive was gone from him—gone with Cotterell! Yet after having thus dealt him a death-blow, Madame seemed full of pity and little acts of personal attention. She helped him out of the waggon, brought him into the house, took his hands and washed them, cooled his forehead with a wet towel, offered him food, and in short treated him much as if he had been a suffering child whom she was tending. At last he seemed to recover himself somewhat as she was passing her soft hand across his brow. “You are very good to me,” he said brokenly, “and if I seem to accept your kindness unheedingly, forgive me. I am not myself to-night. I don’t know what I am doing. Oh, it can’t be!” he suddenly burst out. “She is not gone. I shall see her again. She will come back. How do you know she has gone with him? I don’t believe it.” “Poor Ezra, love dies hard, I know. Some of the men asked if she was going with him, and she answered distinctly, ‘Yes.’ Then they were sorry, they said, they had not hung him before she came up with them.” “No, I won’t believe it. Something has happened to her. Why should she go off with him?” said Ezra distractedly. “Did you not know that he was repeatedly here to see her, whenever you were out of the way?” said Madame, who did not think she was exaggerating in any way. “She told me all that,” answered Ezra nervously, “but she was only amused by his talk.” “No, your love is blind. Dear Ezra, I wish I could soften the blow. There is no doubt about it. I saw them once together at the spring, he kissed her at parting. It was a man and the woman he loved. I cannot be mistaken. Remember he was very handsome and winning in his manners, and she was young and pretty.” “Ah, my sweet little Ollie! My little rose-bud,” cried Ezra, starting to his feet. “I’ll go to her, she shall not wander away out of my reach without one effort to save her from herself. She was only a child. Why didn’t you look after her?” he asked, suddenly facing Madame with an angry glance. “Did you give her into my charge either by word or hint?” returned she, somewhat taken aback. “It was not your fault. Forgive me. I am too distracted to know what I say. I remember she refused to go to you. She said she would rather stay at home. I tried to urge her, but she would not consent to it,” said Ezra in a low voice. “Ah,” remarked Madame, “very possibly she expected him to come to her during your absence.”