“We’ve settled it, Kit, and I’m too tired to argue. I think you answered yourself as you went along, only you had not consciously heard the answers. You are no sophist, dear Kit! So when I spoke of duty it needed no more than the word. You had argued on the surface of your mind, but all the time your will stood true! I’m proud of you, dear Kit, and thankful that I did not love a man less fine than my husband is. I do love Richard, Kit; we both well may love him. I’m a little tired. Yes, please take me back,” Anne ended, abruptly. “You are deadly white and you’re thinner, Anne,” said Kit, forgetting his pain in anxiety as he looked at the sweet, weary face beside him. “Just tired; that’s all,” said Anne, smiling. “I haven’t slept much of late. I fancy we both find that night brings the enemy’s hardest attacks. You are thinner, too. Have you plans?” “To go away soon, to New York, and go into business there,” said Kit, accepting her lead. They talked quietly as they returned homeward, till just before they reached Latham Street, Kit stopped short. “It can’t be good-bye so casually, Anne! Am I mad that I give you up like this, or have you put a spell upon me? I think I’m dreaming and must awaken. It’s like a nightmare in which you can’t move,” he said, hoarsely. “It’s only good-night, Kit, but good-bye is its foundation. You will awake, my dear, quite well and strong, for the nightmare is over. Good-night, Kit, and with all my heart I pray God bless you. When you get home to think, remind yourself that you spared poor Anne all that you could, and be thankful that you are her comfort, and not the least, wee pain to her, as a tiny lack in you would be. Good-night, Kit! Dearest, good-night, Sir Christopher!” Anne forced her drawn lips to smile as she paused for a moment at Richard’s garden gate. Kit looked down on her without an attempt to smile back at her. They did not touch each other’s hands. “Oh, Lord!” he groaned, and turned away. Anne stood for an instant, her hand on the top of the gate. Then with a long, fluttering breath she groped for the latch, lifted it and entered the garden. Before her on the bench, one arm thrown across its back, his head erect, pale, but quietly smiling toward her as his quick ear heard the click of the latch, sat Richard Latham waiting for her. CHAPTER XX _Richard_ Anne halted, frightened by Richard’s face. “Well, dear?” he said, and extended his hand. She came on slowly, fear clutching her and a sense of guilt. When she reached the bench Richard lightly clasped the hand that she laid in his and drew her down beside him. “Did you have a pleasant walk, dear?” he asked. He spoke quietly, but his voice was strained. Anne did not speak and Richard turned toward her. “Are you tired, brave little woman? And aren’t you going to tell me all about it?”