"There are crab apples in it," the girl answered.
There was something more than crab apples in the cider; there was a love powder, and two hours after Dic's arrival at home he became ill. Dr. Kennedy ascribed the illness to poisoning, and for a time it looked as if Sukey's love powder would solve several problems; but Dic recovered, and the problems were still unsolved.
From the day Dic received Sukey's unwelcome letter, he knew it was his duty to inform Rita of his trouble. He was sure she would soon learn the interesting truth from disinterested friends, should the secret become public property on Blue, and he wanted at least the benefit of an honest confession. That selfishness, however, was but a small part of his motive. He sincerely felt that it was Rita's privilege to know all about the affair, and his duty to tell her. He had no desire to conceal his sin; he would not take her love under a false pretence. He almost felt that confession would purge him of his sin, and looked forward with a certain pleasure to the pain he would inflict upon himself in telling her. In his desire for self-castigation he lost sight of the pain he would inflict upon her. He knew she would be pained by the disclosure, but he feared more its probable effect upon her love for him, and looked for indignant contempt and scorn from her, rather than for the manifestation of great pain. He resolved to write to Rita at once and make a clean breast of it; but Billy advised him to wait till she was entirely well.
Dic, quite willing to postpone his confession, wrote several letters, which kind Miss Tousy delivered; but he did not speak of Sukey Yates until Rita's letters informed him that she was growing strong. Then he wrote to her and told her in as few words as possible the miserable story of his infidelity. He did not blame Sukey, nor excuse himself. He simply stated the fact and said: "I hardly dare hope for your forgiveness. It seems that you must despise me as I despise myself. It is needless for me to tell you of my love for you, which has not wavered during so many years that I have lost their count. But now that I deserve your scorn; now that I am in dread of losing you who have so long been more than all else to me, you are dearer than ever before. Write to me, I beg, and tell me that you do not despise me. Ah, Rita, compared to you, there is no beauty, no purity, no tenderness in the world. There seems to be but one woman—you, and I have thrown away your love as if I were a blind fool who did not know its value. Write to me, I beg, and tell me that I am forgiven."
But she did not write to him. In place of a letter he received a small package containing the ivory box and the unfortunate band of gold that had brought trouble to Billy Little long years before.