"Partly for lack of something better to do I have cleaned the
old house from attic to cellar, and have been glad to creep
to bed lame and sore from work, because then I could sleep.
Father won't let me read at night--watches for signs of the
light under my door and calls out to me if it shows. It is
golden weather without, dear friend, and within is order and
system. But what good? I am stagnating, perishing. I can see
no release--cannot even imagine in what form I would like it
to come. In your great happiness remember my sorrow. And with
your wonderful sweetness forgive my bitter egotism. But
truly, Honora, I die daily."

The first letter Honora Fulham wrote after she was able to sit at her
desk was to Kate. No answer came. In November Mrs. Fulham telephoned to
Lena Vroom to ask if she had heard, but Lena had received no word.

"Go down to Silvertree, Lena, there's a dear," begged her old
schoolmate. But Lena was working for her doctor's degree and could not
spare the time. The holidays came on, and Mrs. Fulham tried to imagine
her friend as being at last broken to her galling harness. Surely there
must be compensations for any father and daughter who can dwell
together. Her own Christmas was a very happy one, and she was annoyed
with herself that her thoughts so continually turned to Kate. She had
an uneasy sense of apprehension in spite of all her verbal assurances to
Lena that Kate could master any situation.

* * * * *

What really happened in Silvertree that day changed, as it happened, the
course of Kate's life. Sorrow came to her afterward, disappointment,