meant it. Priscilla, the letter I wrote to-day was to--_my_ man. He's as
splendid as yours. I told you once how I--I loved children. I had taken
that love for granted until something happened. A friend of mine
married--one of the girls my people thought was the kind for me to know.
She didn't understand life any more than I did; she just took one of the
men who wore the same label she did. Her child came--a year after; a
horrible little creature--diseased; dreadful--can you understand?"

"Yes"--Priscilla had turned toward the girl by her side--"yes, I know
what you mean. I have been a nurse."

"That was the first time things we should have known--were known by my
friend and me!" Margaret's voice was low and hard.

"She--she cursed him, her husband--and left him! It was terrible! I was
frightened, more frightened than I had ever been. Everything seemed
tottering around me. I thought--I must die; I dared trust nothing. Just
then--some one told me--he loved me; and I--I had loved him. But I was
more afraid of him than of any one in God's world. I thought I was going
mad, and then--I went to Doctor Ledyard and told him all about it. I just
threw my whole burden of doubt and ignorance upon him--he is such a
_good_ man! Sometimes I weep when I think of him. He was father, friend,
and physician, all in one. He understood. He told me to go away; he got
you for me. He told me to play like a little girl, with only the real and
beautiful things of life; to forget the worries, and he would make sure!

"Priscilla, he has made sure! My love is safe. I can give myself to my
love and let it have its way with me, and in the beautiful future, our
future, his and mine, little children cannot--curse us by their suffering
and deformity.