"Oh," he said, with unaffected carelessness. "You didn't seem to be very
nervous."

"I trusted you."

Crittenden had stopped to pull the self-opening gate, and he drove
almost at a slow walk through the pasture toward Judith's home. The sun
was reddening through the trees now. The whole earth was moist and
fragrant, and the larks were singing their last songs for that happy
day. Judith was quite serious now.

"Do you know, I was glad to hear you say that you had got over your old
feeling for me. I feel so relieved. I have always felt so responsible
for your happiness, but I don't now, and it is _such_ a relief. Now you
will go ahead and marry some lovely girl and you will be happy and I
shall be happier--seeing it and knowing it."

Crittenden shook his head.

"No," he said, "something seems to have gone out of me, never to come
back."

There was nobody in sight to open the yard gate, and Crittenden drove to
the stiles, where he helped Judith out and climbed back into his buggy.

Judith turned in surprise. "Aren't you coming in?"

"I'm afraid I haven't time."

"Oh, yes, you have."