He said that he would always love her, but how could she now know
that? Why might not this letter be only his way of withdrawing
from a position which he wished to abandon, from which, perhaps,
he was even glad to escape? Were this true, and she wrote and
said all those things that were in her heart, that now she knew
were true, might she not hold him to her against his will? The
love that once he had for her might no longer exist, and if, in
her turn, she told him she loved him and had always loved him,
might he not in some mistaken spirit of chivalry feel it was his
duty to pretend to care? Her cheeks burned at the thought. It was
intolerable. She could not write that letter. And as day
succeeded day, to do so became more difficult. And so she never
wrote and was very unhappy. And Latimer was very unhappy. But he
had his work, and Helen had none, and for her life became a game
of putting little things together, like a picture puzzle, an hour
here and an hour there, to make up each day. It was a dreary
game.

From time to time she heard of him through the newspapers. For,
in his own State, he was an "Insurgent" making a fight, the
outcome of which was expected to show what might follow
throughout the entire West. When he won his fight much more was
written about him, and he became a national figure. In his own
State the people hailed him as the next governor, promised him a
seat in the Senate. To Helen this seemed to take him further out
of her life. She wondered if now she held a place even in his
thoughts.

At Fair Harbor the two hundred and forty-nine used to joke with
her about her politician. Then they considered Latimer of