counsel. Faith's innocently uttered phrase rankled in her
father's mind like a barbed shaft. There was "nobody" to look
after them--to comfort their little souls and care for their
little bodies. How frail Una had looked, lying there on the
vestry sofa in that long faint! How thin were her tiny hands,
how pallid her little face! She looked as if she might slip away
from him in a breath--sweet little Una, of whom Cecilia had
begged him to take such special care. Since his wife's death he
had not felt such an agony of dread as when he had hung over his
little girl in her unconsciousness. He must do something--but
what? Should he ask Elizabeth Kirk to marry him? She was a good
woman--she would be kind to his children. He might bring himself
to do it if it were not for his love for Rosemary West. But
until he had crushed that out he could not seek another woman in
marriage. And he could not crush it out--he had tried and he
could not. Rosemary had been in church that evening, for the
first time since her return from Kingsport. He had caught a
glimpse of her face in the back of the crowded church, just as he
had finished his sermon. His heart had given a fierce throb. He
sat while the choir sang the "collection piece," with his bent
head and tingling pulses. He had not seen her since the evening
upon which he had asked her to marry him. When he had risen to
give out the hymn his hands were trembling and his pale face was
flushed. Then Una's fainting spell had banished everything from
his mind for a time. Now, in the darkness and solitude of the
study it rushed back. Rosemary was the only woman in the world
for him. It was of no use for him to think of marrying any
other. He could not commit such a sacrilege even for his
children's sake. He must take up his burden alone--he must try
to be a better, a more watchful father--he must tell his children