Oh," he added in a lower tone, "just think from what a grief he may have saved us! I feel as though I could never be able to show him my gratitude." Then he looked at the transplanted bunch of violets, which was fresh and flourishing, and was silent.
Lois sat down a little reluctantly.

The memory of that June night, nearly a year ago, flashed into her mind; she felt the color creep up to her forehead.

"Oh," she thought, "how contemptible I am to have any thought but grief,--how shallow I am, how cruel!" And to punish herself for this, she rushed into speaking of her responsibility again.
Gifford noticed her nervousness.

"She is afraid of me," he said to himself.

"She wouldn't be, if she cared." "You see, Gifford," she began, "I keep saying to myself every moment, 'I did it--it was my carelessness--all, all my fault.' Father tried to comfort me, and so did Mrs.Forsythe as soon as she could speak, and Mr.
Denner has sent word that I must not give him a thought (dear Mr.
Denner!), but oh, I know!" Gifford looked at her pale face, with the sweet trembling lip.