One night, two days later, Rowland had retired early, and the boys, having worked hard all day, soon followed him. Charles was seated on a rustic bench on the lawn. He had noted the change in Rowland's manner toward him and had promptly coupled it with the sheriff's visit. That something of a serious nature was impending he did not doubt. Several times he had caught Mary's glance, and each time he had felt that she was trying to convey some hint that she wanted to speak to him, but that no suitable opportunity had presented itself. Something told him now that she would join him where he sat; he knew that she had not yet retired, for now and then she passed the window of the lighted sitting-room. The anticipation of meeting her was not that of unalloyed joy, for he felt more and more that he had no moral right to the trust she was so blindly placing in him. She had bared her soul to him; he was unable to do the same to her. Loving her as he did more than life itself, yet he was sure he had no right to foster love in her breast. The burning tobacco died in his pipe as he held it in his tense hand between his knees and again thought out the sinister situation. For the sake of his love's life and hers he might wreck the hope and happiness of a whole family to whom he had pledged fidelity; but if he did that even Mary herself would spurn him. Yes, for had she not been ready to sacrifice herself on a bare chance to save her brothers? No, she loved him for what she thought he was, not for what he would be if he failed in his righteous undertaking. He might tell her how he was bound, but that would sound like self-glorification and would do no good, since her only chance for happiness lay in forgetting him. He felt rather than saw her as she approached soundlessly on the dewy grass. He stood up. The seat was short, and the wild thought flashed through his brain that he had no more right to sit close beside her than the humblest subject beside his queen; so he stood bowing, and with his hand mutely indicated the seat. She took it, and then, as he remained standing, she suddenly reached out, caught his hand, and drew him down beside her. "What is the matter?" she asked, insincerely, for she knew the cause of his restraint. "Nothing," he answered. "Oh, I know there is; but never mind," she continued, still holding his hand. "I had to see you to-night, Charlie. I could not have waited longer." "Is it about Albert Frazier?" he asked. "No, you know it is not. Besides, he has gone away for good and all. He released me from my--my understanding with him. We are not even going to write to each other." The heart of the listener bounded, but it sank a moment later, for, pressing his hand, as if to console him, Mary went on: "I wanted to see you about yourself, Charlie--yourself."