Here he settled himself on a small wooden bench outside the retreat and gave his thoughts full rein--not to repine, nor to revive his troubles, which he meant to put behind him--but to plan out the letter he was to write Kate.

This must be clear and convincing and tell the whole story of his heart.

That he might empty it the better he had chosen this place made sacred by her presence.

Then again, the park was generally deserted at this hour--the hour between the passing of the men of business and the coming of the children and nurses--and he would not be interrupted--certainly not before this arbor--one off by itself and away from passers-by.
He seated himself on the bench, his eyes overlooking the park.

All the hours he had passed with Kate beneath the wide-spreading trees rose in his mind; the day they had read aloud to each other, her pretty feet tucked under her so that the dreadful ants couldn't touch her dainty stockings; the morning when she was late and he had waited and fumed stretching minutes into hours in his impatience; that summer night when the two had hidden behind the big oak so that he could kiss her good-night and none of the others see.
With these memories stirring, his letter was forgotten, and his head dropped upon his breast, as if the weight of all he had lost was greater than he could bear.