“Don't feel so bad, Bruce,” she said brokenly. “I am not worth it. I tried not to love you--I didn't want to.” She raised a white face to his. “I am going now, Betty. You--you shouldn't stay here any longer with me.” He spoke with sudden resolution. “And I shall not see you again?” she asked, in a low, stifled voice. “It's good-by--” he muttered. “Not yet--oh, not yet, Bruce--” she implored. “I can not--” “Yes--now, dear. I don't dare stay--I may forget--” but he turned again to her in entreaty. “Give me something to remember in all the years that are coming when I shall be alone--let me kiss you on the lips--let me--just this once--it's good-by we're saying--it's good-by, Betty!” She went to him, and, as he bent above her, slipped her arms about his neck. “Kiss me--” she breathed. He kissed her hair, her soft cheek, then their lips met. He helped her as she stumbled blindly along the path to the house, and half lifted her up the steps to the door. They paused there for a moment. At last he turned from her abruptly in silence. A step away he halted. “If you should ever need me--” “Never as now,” she said. She saw his tall figure pass down the path, and her straining eyes followed until it was lost in the mild wide spaces of the night. Another hot September sun was beating upon the earth as Betty galloped down the lane and swung her horse's head in the direction of Raleigh. Her grief had worn itself out and she carried a pale but resolute face. Carrington was gone; she would keep her promise to Charley and he should never know what his happiness had cost her. She nerved herself for their meeting; somewhere between Belle Plain and Thicket Point Norton would be waiting for her. He joined her before she had covered a third of the distance that separated the two plantations. “Thank God, my darling!” he cried fervently, as he ranged up alongside of her. “Then you weren't sure of me, Charley?” “No, I wasn't sure, Betty--but I hoped. I have been haunting the road for more than an hour. You are making one poor unworthy devil happy, unless--” “Unless what, Charley?” she prompted. “Unless you came here merely to tell me that after all you couldn't marry me.” He put out his hand and covered hers that held the reins. “I'll never give you cause to regret it--you know how I love you, dear?” “Yes, Charley--I know.” She met his glance bravely. “We are to go to the church. Mr. Bowen will be there; I arranged with him last night; he will drive over with his wife and daughter, who will be our witnesses, dear. We could have gone to his house, but I thought it would seem more like a real wedding in a church, you know.”