Eleanor H. Porter

“ Sometimes there was a delightful comradeship, which was frankness itself, and sometimes there was only the shy sweet happiness of a girl who is with the man she loves. Then back would come the old restraint and nervousness, and away would fly the comradeship and the happiness, leaving only the enigma that was becoming more and more unsolvable every day.
For a week Matthewson was Jack Arnold, gentle, considerate, earnestly striving to please, and to keep Jack Arnold's promise to Little Pard. ”

“ He pictured himself as walking up the path to the red brick house and calling for Miss Mary Stanhope. And then—and not till then—did he suddenly realize that he was not Jack Arnold at all. He was Matthewson—an interloper, a liar, and—he feared—a fool.
For five miserable minutes he contemplated flight; then he remembered the telegram, and squared his chin. It was too late for retreat. There was nothing to do but to march forward. And he did it, straight across the street and up the worn brick walk to the door.
An old woman answered his ring. ”

“ The first train out of Hinsdale did not leave until ten o'clock, and there was still a dreary waste of hours that must be lived through somehow. Matthewson packed his few belongings, and tramped up and down his room till breakfast-time; then he paid his bill, and left a fat white envelope with directions that it should be delivered immediately after his departure at ten o'clock. Thrusting his hat far down over his eyes, he strode through the open hotel doorway and turned up the street that led to the hills back of the town. ”

“ At the end of the week he became Matthewson, ashamed, appalled, and very much in love—Matthewson, in his own eyes a liar, a coward, and a thief.
It was then that he vowed to end it. Shutting himself up in his room at the hotel, with paper, pens, and ink, he determined to lay the whole thing bare before her.
Morning had come when he wrote the closing paragraph:
And so I'm going away. Not until my whole heart cried out with love for you did L realize what I had done. It may be cowardly to write instead of facing you and telling you the truth. But I can't face you. ”

“ I shouldn't blame you a bit, either. I can't seem more than a shadow to you, after all, while out there, all about you, there must be many realities—flesh and blood, not pen and ink, you know. If it is so, tell me, dear. ”

“ Gorry, Bill!' greeted an unsteady voice, as Matthewson faced the man standing in the dusk outside. “But you give me a start! You look 'nough like poor Jack ter be his ghost. I'd forgot you two looked so much alike. I come ter bring a letter. I s'pose I no need to, seein' it don't belong ter no one now. But it give me the creeps an' haunted me—poor Jack's bein' dead so. ”