lonely," he ended pitifully. His innocent solemn eyes were limpid with
tears, and he looked at her with terrified beseeching, like a lost
child.

The tears that sprang to her eyes were almost motherly; for an
impetuous instant she bent over him, then drew back sharply, and the
tears dried in a hot pang of shame. "No, Sam; I can't. Oh, I am so
sorry! Please forgive me--I ought not to have let you--but I didn't
know--yes; I did know! And I ought to have stopped you. It's my fault.
Oh, how selfish I have been! But it's horrible to have you talk this
way! Won't you please not say anything more?" She was incoherent to
the point of crying.

Sam looked out over the dark garden in silence. "Well," he said
slowly, "if you can't, then I don't want to see you. It would hurt me
too much to see you. I'll go away. I will go on loving you, but I will
go away, so that I needn't see you. Yes; I will leave Old Chester--"

"Oh, I wish you would," she said.

"You don't love me," he repeated, in a sort of hopeless astonishment;
"why, I can't seem to believe it! I thought you must--I love you so.
But no, you don't. Not even just a little. Well--"

And without another word he left her. She could not hear his step on
the locust flowers on the porch.