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“I thought you promised to wait for me, Avery,” Bruce said reproachfully.

“You were so long in coming back–I thought you had forgotten me,” cried Avery.

“I think I did forget a little, Avery. I was such a boy. But now–well, thank Heaven, I haven’t come too late.”

There was a silence, and shameless Janet, peering above the window sill, saw what she saw. It was enough. She crept away upstairs to her room. She was lying there across the bed when Avery swept in–a splendid, transfigured Avery, flushed triumphant. Janet sat up, pallid, tear-stained, and looked at her.

“Janet,” said Avery, “I am going to marry Bruce Gordon next Wednesday night instead of Randall Burnley.”

Janet sprang forward and caught Avery’s hand.

“You must not,” she cried wildly. “It’s all my fault–oh, if I could only die–I got the love ointment from Granny Thomas to rub on your eyes to make you love the first man you would see. I meant it to be Randall–I thought it was Randall–oh, Avery!”

Avery had been listening, between amazement and anger. Now anger mastered amazement.

“Janet Sparhallow,” she cried, “are you crazy? Or do you mean that you went to Granny Thomas–you, a Sparhallow!–and asked her for a love philtre to make me love Randall Burnley?”

“I didn’t tell her it was for you–she thought I wanted it for myself,” moaned Janet. “Oh, we must undo it–I’ll go to her again–no doubt she knows of some way to undo the spell–“

Avery, whose rages never lasted long, threw back her dark head and laughed ringingly.

“Janet Sparhallow, you talk as if you lived in the dark ages! The idea of supposing that horrid old woman could give you love philtres! Why, girl, I’ve always loved Bruce–always. But I thought he’d forgotten me. And tonight when he came I found he hadn’t. There’s the whole thing in a nutshell. I’m going to marry him and go home with him to Scotland.”

“And what about Randall?” said Janet, corpse-white.

“Oh, Randall–pooh! Do you suppose I’m worrying about Randall? But you must go to him tomorrow and tell him for me, Janet.”

“I will not–I will not.”

“Then I’ll tell him myself–and I’ll tell him about you going to Granny,” said Avery cruelly. “Janet, don’t stand there looking like that. I’ve no patience with you. I shall be perfectly happy with Bruce–I would have been miserable with Randall. I know I shan’t sleep a wink tonight–I’m so excited. Why, Janet, I’ll be Mrs. Gordon of Gordon Brae–and I’ll have everything heart can desire and the man of my heart to boot. What has lanky Randall Burnley with his little six-roomed house to set against that?”

If Avery did not sleep, neither did Janet. She lay awake till dawn, suffering such misery as she had never endured in her life before. She knew she must go to Randall Burnley tomorrow and break his heart. If she did not, Avery would tell him–tell him what Janet had done. And he must not know that–he must not. Janet could not bear that thought.

* * * * *

It was a pallid, dull-eyed Janet who went through the birch wood to the Burnley farm next afternoon, leaving behind her an excited household where the sudden change of bridegrooms, as announced by Avery, had rather upset everybody. Janet found Randall working in the garden of his new house–setting out rosebushes for Avery–Avery, who was to jilt him at the very altar, so to speak. He came over to open the gate for Janet, smiling his dear smile. It was a dear smile–Janet caught her breath over the dearness of it–and she was going to blot it off his face.

She spoke out, with plainness and directness. When you had to deal a mortal blow, why try to lighten it?

“Avery sent me to tell you that she is going to marry Bruce Gordon instead of you. He came last night–and she says that she has always liked him best.”